


Fringe Theories

by bramble28



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Impact Wrestling | Total Nonstop Action Wrestling, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Coming of Age, Cryptids, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gods, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2020-07-10 03:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramble28/pseuds/bramble28
Summary: He’s been called crazy, unstable, a lunatic (also petulant, lazy, and irresponsible) but Dean knows what so many others don’t. Don’t ask how he knows. There are creatures out there that science can not explain, can not account for, and he intends to find them and shelter them from the world. Along with his small band of fantastic companions he scours the world for those living on the fringes. Their mission: to document for their community who is out there, and who is to be trusted or feared.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a long crazy ride, full of gods, cryptids, fantasy creatures, and things I haven’t even thought of yet. Expect many chapters, though I’m not sure if I’ll be releasing them on a regular schedule after the first handful that I’ve already written, depending on how crazy real life gets, but I’ll try to get them out in a reasonable time frame. I really hope you enjoy this, because it has become the only child of my brain (but I’m sure there will be some one shots and other bits thrown about at some point).  
> Relationships and characters will develop and change as I go along so I haven’t tagged all relationships and characters involved yet because I do want you to be surprised, and because with the wrestling landscape changing I'm not exactly sure WHO could bring me inspiration. Do expect promotion crossover. Ambreigns is most definitely a theme here however, eventually. Fair warning: slow burn. Rest assured that the cast will be quite large and your fav is likely to pop up at some point. 
> 
> Cookie (cookiethewriter - check out their work here, it's amazing). Cookie, I can't even begin to give you enough credit for all of the support you have given me, from encouraging me to jump into this crazy pool of fandom to beta reading my work. You've given me courage, you've given me feedback, listened to all of my late-night ramblings and imagines, and best of all you've given me friendship. This story would not have happened if not for you, and I'm just so thankful. I hope you enjoy this adventure, it's dedicated to you.

“MOXLEY!” The angry tone booms across the pavilion.

The god being summoned is laying face down in a pile of blankets. He’s been imbibing all night, inside Callihan’s dwelling, enjoying the strongest liquid mind-bender his best friend could get his grubby partied-out hands on. Callihan elbows him sharply, stifling a giggle. Mox rolls over and groans, rubbing at his eyes with one hand briefly before letting his whole arm flop over the top of his head, pushing his mussed bright pink hair back. His head is pounding and he’s sure he’s sober now, especially as the footsteps outside grow louder. He knows he’s in trouble, about to get a ration of his father’s peace of mind for sure. 

“Where’s my goddamn robe?” he mumbles, right before there is thunderous banging on the door. The noise makes Mox grab at his head, the pain shooting through his eyeballs and straight out the back of his skull. Callihan, with Mox’s robes in hand, cringes at the sound as well. When he recovers he tosses the garment over.

Moxley wraps himself in his robes and ties up the appropriate spots. He’s draped in white, which never feels right, as he heaves himself to his feet to answer the door. There’s no use in being quiet and hoping he will go away. His father knows everything. The thought brings an ill-tempered frown to his face. You don’t get to be the King of Gods without knowing everything.  _ That “everything” including “knowing” what’s best for your son.  _

Mox whips the door open to find his father standing there. The vein is standing out on his forehead, and he’s pulled himself up to however many ridiculous feet tall, Mox can’t judge how high at this moment, all it tells him is that he’s in serious trouble. The brain fog is too thick. He steps out of Callihan’s abode, followed by the latter. His father looks him up and down, admonishing the state of his robes, and the pink hair that he hates but tolerates anyway. He does so without saying a word about his son’s appearance. They’ve fought too much over his presentability in this century already. If his father is honest with himself he may hate the hair but he despises his son’s attitude toward his responsibilities more. 

“WE LOST THE LAST ONE!” the King of Gods pauses to take in a huge breathe. “LAST NIGHT!” he finishes in such volume that both Mox and Callihan’s hands fly to their ears. The King of Gods takes in a few ragged breaths. Trying to keep his temper under control so as not to cause real, physical damage to the young gods in front of him or what surrounds them with the sound waves he’s emitting, he waits a few moments before continuing. In those few moments Callihan shrinks back behind Mox a bit, the look on his face not quite fear but absolutely uncomfortable. Mox on the other hand sighs, the frown plastered on his face ticking up into a one-sided sneer, and he shifts his weight onto one hip in impatience. At that his father can’t take it anymore. He lowers his voice and levels his son with an emotionless look, so angry he is calm. Mox suddenly feels quite disturbed when his father speaks again.

“We lost the last one, while you were here last night, partying. She was your responsibility. You were supposed to make sure she stayed safe. This is not a game, Moxley. You were born to the realm of the gods to protect them,” his father says, evenly, maybe even a bit quieter than he normally speaks. “This is unforgivable.”

Mox straightens up a little at his father’s last words. He feels a momentary prickle of guilt before he dives head first back into his haughty air. “What’s one beast?” he questions. “Just one? What difference could that possibly make?”

His father looks down. He has to or he’s going to strangle his kid so help him….Himself. He reminds himself he is supposed to be a rational, impartial ruler. “You’re arrogant, selfish, unreliable, and reckless.” The accusations roll off his tongue, because he’s been considering them for a long time. 

Mox rolls his eyes and sighs disgustedly. “I’m 813 years old. I can handle myself.”

“You’re an infant. And you’re acting like it!” his father fires back at him. Mox can see the rage hidden underneath the even exterior of his father, even as that illusion is breaking apart. It makes him want to shove the hot pokers in a bit more. 

“The Earth is overburdened. Maybe one less creature on it’s crust sucking up resources will benefit everyone.” Mox looks back at Callihan. He friend looks small. He knows he’s pushing boundaries he’s been pushing for too long. He doesn’t care. The constant micromanaging from his father is making him insane. Nag about this, nag about that. He’s blatantly ignoring all of the reason and care his father has put in explaining how important his role as a god is. _ Son we must keep the rare creatures of Earth safe. Not every being on that planet understands the importance of keeping them safe. They are part of the ecosystem, part of what makes Earth work. Your responsibilities are more important than you realize, and even if the humans must never find out who it is that you protect, it is your birthright duty.  _

As a child he tried to learn about his responsibilities and his powers, he embraced the teachings of his father and the other gods that were tasked with bestowing him with their knowledge. The Goddess of Animal Nature and all her roles in reproduction, and ecological balance; the God of Environment and his roles in maintenance of the Earth’s crust, when the magma would surface through the mantle, and where and when … and of course his father, as the King of Gods responsible for the natural order of all things, for evolution. 

As an adolescent, “birthright duty” is just about all Mox ever needed to hear to know he hates it, even if he doesn’t fully understand it yet. What he does understand is his role as a lesser god, even though his own father is the highest tier of all. His pedestal wasn’t high enough for his liking, would never be high enough. 

Mox, finding himself suddenly overwhelmed turns and begins to walk away. He nudges Callihan hard in the arm to follow, which he does, albeit after an unsure look toward his King. As Mox is walking away, his back turned to his father, pink hair flowing out behind him, he raises his arm high in the air. His middle finger is sticking straight up. 

The King of Gods looks categorically pained by his son’s last statement, and his subsequent retreat. He has no qualms about punishing his own son but the idea that comes to him is unprecedented. He needs him out of the way for a bit until he figures out how to get through to him, needs him safe where he can’t hurt himself or anyone else with his full godly powers. He takes another enormous breath before raising his right hand, lowering his head, and whispering in the language of the gods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know this might seem a bit weird at first with the character and setting change from the prologue. Bear with me, there is a reason for it all in what I'm hoping will be an entertaining sprawl of a good time. It's worth the payoff, I promise. More will be explained in the next couple of chapters.

Dean runs headlong into the wind. His legs churn, propelling him across the boards under his feet. The pier is some 100 feet long and as he reaches the end he launches himself up and over the guardrail with zero care to his form. His body is silhouetted against the dusk sky as he freefalls before tumbling gracelessly into the ocean. The impact of hitting the rolling waves back- first barely steals the breath from him. Gravity forces him under the surface where the waves set about to somersaulting him until he’s not sure which way is up. He decelerates until he feels his body come to near-rest, suspended in the water before he breathes out a few tiny bubbles, noting which direction they go. Up. He rotates his body seventy degrees before outstretching his arms and pushing them downward while calmly kicking his feet.

When his head breaks the surface of the salt water he puffs out the breath he was holding and draws in new air. He looks up from where he’s now bobbing in the foam near the last set of piles. The drop was probably about 50 feet, maybe 60 if he counts the height he gained in using a bench to clear the guardrail. The landing would have killed any mortal.

Dean swims to the shore and walks out of the water fully clothed. His feet sink in the sand as he heads up the beach toward the road. It had been a last minute decision. A test. He just has to keep checking if things are still the same, and there is only one way to find out if the sudden stop at the end of the fall will kill him today. The beach is mostly empty. It was late and he had made sure to wait until the last of the fishermen left the pier for the day and that all the families had returned to their homes. There are a few people walking up the beach but they’re mostly lost in their own thoughts, trying to untangle the injustices of life, or caught up in the lover at their side. Dean slides his soaked leather jacket off, tosses it over one shoulder, and scrapes the clotted sand off his boots on the edge of the sidewalk before turning toward home. 

Home is a small cottage a half mile inland. It’s not much but it’s what he requires and perhaps it’s exactly what he deserves. The middle of the Florida Atlantic coast is somewhere he never would have chosen for himself, but then he didn’t choose to come here. 

Soggy jeans are rubbing his thighs in the wrong places by the time he reaches home. He heads around to the back of his house where he has an outdoor shower. The neighbors would likely all be indoors at this hour, dark as it finally was, and probably mostly asleep. Usually they could be counted on to keep to themselves as much as he was inclined to. Dean fights with his soggy t-shirt, wriggling it over his head as he rounds the back corner. He tosses it onto the poured concrete slab supporting the shower before kicking his boots off. His socks are a pain in the ass to pull off soaking wet as well. Not sure if he has the mental patience to peel the saturated denim from his body just yet, he reaches into the shower and turns the water on to warm.

When he’s satisfied with the temperature he gets in the wooden stall and pulls the curtain closed. He stands under the water, letting it wash the sand and salt from his upper body, and the haze of irritation from his mind. Finally, he reaches down to undo the button and zipper of his jeans. He starts at the waistband and tries to shove them down over his thighs, only succeeding in getting them more stuck. “Fuck,” he whisper-yells, all of the previous irritation returning. He struggles with trying to shove them down a few more seconds before switching to pulling from the hems of the leg holes at his ankles. That works better, and he manages to strip the pants off with a few more short strings of cursing. When he’s free of the torture trap he throws them over the top of the shower and hears them land with a splat on the concrete. 

“Having issues over there, kid?” he hears a deep voice call over from his right. It causes him to momentarily freeze before he recognizes it. 

“Jus’ the usual bullshit on a Thursday night, old man.” Dean’s response is sarcastic though not disrespectful. 

“At least you waited to completely strip until you got in the stall this time.” The voice is serene if rough with age. It gives away nothing about it’s owner’s actual state of offense. That means nothing to Dean. It’s not so much a lack of emotion, rather than ultimate control, from the mysterious man. Angry, excited, tired, inspired all frequently sound the same. 

“Look, man,” Dean starts, before water runs into his mouth and he starts choking on it. When he clears the water from his airway he continues, his own voice a touch more gravelly than normal “ya wouldn’t know if ya weren’t lookin’. Stop being an old pervert.”

The older man laughs, his volume remaining the same as when he had spoken. He’s obviously amused and Dean takes a little pride in that. He’s never seen anyone else crack his neighbor. He finishes rinsing his muscular body before turning the water off, and reaching out of the shower stall to retrieve the large towel he keeps on a hook outside. Wrapping his lower half in the towel, he tucks a corner in at his trim waist. He steps out of the stall, shaking the water from his sandy brown hair. He towels off quickly before dragging a pair of sweatpants and a new t shirt on from another hook outside the shower. Wet bangs fall into his eyes and he brushes them aside before turning toward the cottage next door. 

It’s closer than the neighboring cottage on the other side, where there is a band of trees separating the properties anyway. Their two cottages seemed to be purposely set closer, slightly cut off from the rest of the neighborhood. Dean can see Taker in his own backyard, laid back on his chaise, relaxing in the dark. He’s only illuminated by the faint light bounced from the moon. His entirely black wardrobe doesn’t really help Dean make out the lines of his body. He can make out that he’s wearing his large brimmed hat. Dean knows, rather than sees, that his eyes are likely closed, and probably have been the whole time. The guy has the uncanny ability to know what’s going on at all times around him even in pitch black, as if the sun was blazing. 

“Soaking up the rays?” Dean saunters over to his neighbor’s yard and stands near Taker. The bigger man opens one eye, critically scouring Dean from under the hat brim. Not for the first time Dean feels so openly scrutinized that he backs up half a step. He’s certain the man sees into his soul. 

“Sit down,” he’s ordered. He chooses an upright chair not 3 feet away from Taker’s chaise.

Dean doesn’t feel threatened by the man. He knows no harm will come to him, but he has a way. It’s a way that is familiar to Dean yet foreign in a way he can’t quite grasp. Over the year that he’s been here Dean has gotten to know his neighbor better than anyone had in a long time. Taker kept to himself. He made it unequivocally clear to everyone around that was how he wanted it. Even the mail delivery person knew to just drop whatever arrived at the mailbox on the curb and go no further. He had made a reputation for himself in town of being a grim presence, always head to toe in black, someone not to be trifled with and certainly not to be invited to a block party. It had earned him the nickname “Undertaker”. No one really wants to be too friendly with the undertaker. No matter to him, especially if it kept them away. 

Only it never kept Dean away. When he first arrived, the tower of a man next door didn’t ask any questions. He kept quiet, to himself, and Dean always had the feeling that he was being watched but somehow it didn’t bother him. One evening, after trying out a particularly dangerous stunt Dean walked right over to the Undertaker, relaxing in his own yard alone as he prefered, and said “Guess what the fuck jus’ happened to me?”. He then described how he had just returned from attempting to jump a steep-banked river. He had missed the other side, 20 feet away, by only a hair. As it was just near dusk the local alligators were ready. Dean briefly scrambled, panicked, in the knee high water to get up the bank before he turned on the animals advancing on him and yelled “Get lost, assholes!” The alligators had abruptly turned and found dinner elsewhere, leaving Dean mildly confused. Some bits of information popped to the forefront of his brain as he neatly traversed up the slope. Comprehensible communication with all living things one way or another...verbal or telepathic. He still needed to see what else he had retained. Taker had shown immediate interest in Dean’s story. Perhaps it was confirming some of his suspicions. After that day Dean had shown up in Taker’s yard to share his ventures frequently. These story-tellings consisted mostly of Dean talking and Taker listening and, over the course of several months they had become neighborly. Friends? Dean wasn’t sure. He hadn’t had a friend since...well, he’d think about that another time. He always pushed that thought away to think about another time. 

“Pushing your boundaries again?” Taker inquired of the younger man sitting next to him in the dark. Dean could see Taker looking at him now with two eyes open.  _ At him? Through him? Into him?  _

“Yup,” Dean popped. He looked fully back at Taker, right back into his eyes. “How else am I going to find out what this body can take?” 

Neither of them broke eye contact for several seconds.

“Maybe try to watch the others? Fit in.” Taker ducked his head a bit, hiding a barely there grin under his hat brim. Fitting in was something he knew someone as prideful as Dean would never bother with. 

“Ya mean like you? Fit in. Just walk about in my black trenchcoat and giant hat, no matter the weather. No matter the heat. Rain, no rain. Sit out here in the dark creeping on the guy next door. Let the whole town give me a name like ‘Undertaker’ and that’s how one just ‘fits in’”, Dean rattled off, indignant. He was close to putting his finger on what was off about the big man. If he could just get under his skin a little further. Thus far, for months, Taker had resisted all of his skillful manipulation. 

Taker grinned still, maybe even a bit wider, ducking his head further as Dean finished going off. “It’s not like you’re doing a bad job of it. T-shirt, jeans, shitty haircut. At least you’re not pretending to care when you actually don’t. You have that on them.” 

“My haircut!” Dean’s head whipped back to stare at Taker. His brows scrunched together and his lips pulled back baring his teeth. “Least I’m not holding on to a bunch of long scraggly strands!”

At that Taker lifted his head to make eye contact with Dean again. His dark eyes burning into Dean’s, and for just a fraction of a second he saw a dull red flash behind the blue of his own eyes, and he knew. Even if he had angered Taker it was worth it, because now he knew. 

What Dean wasn’t aware of was that Taker had not an ounce of ire toward his charge. Not that anyone had officially given Dean to him as his charge. His father had unceremoniously sort of...dropped him off. Taker wouldn’t believe for a second that the choice to drop Dean off where he had was anything but intentional. He was getting tired of keeping all of his secrets. It was getting harder to keep up the charade with the kid around all the time. The young ones were exhausting. 

Taker ran a hand over his long black hair. He thought he saw Dean wince, probably thought he was in trouble, and was trying to find some way to backpedal. Taker took no pleasure in it, but also felt no guilt in manipulating someone he knew would try to manipulate him back in a heartbeat. He had underestimated Dean though because for all of the scowling that Taker was doing the younger man still held eye contact.

“I’ve got you old man. You’re an immortal.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is sure he has Taker all figured out.

The kid had out-manipulated him this time. Taker was actually impressed. At least he was showing some sign of maturing, paying attention to anyone but himself. “Not exactly,” he started.

“Don’t bullshit me, old man. I saw it. I know,” Dean interrupted.

“Saw what?” Taker inquired. 

“My father had that same red flash. Every time he was angry with me I’d catch that red flash in my own eyeballs. Sometimes made me wanna claw them out depending on how bright it was. Course, how bright it was depending on how pissed off at me I got ‘im.” Dean stood up, pointing his finger at Taker, “You can’t bullshit me this time, man. I know an immortal when I see one. I’ve been trying to figure it out for months. Start talking.” It wasn’t so much an impetuous demand as curiosity, but Dean had never been good at being subtle. 

Taker stood up from his chaise and took a couple steps toward Dean. He stood ramrod straight just inches in front of the brash young man calling him out in his own yard. Dean stood up to his full height, still coming up a solid 6 inches short on Taker. He rolled his shoulders a bit, trying to shove off some of the tension that had built up between them. Taker still wasn’t the slightest bit incensed but it did give him hope that the kid was showing up. He could sense Dean wasn’t afraid of the fight but he was concerned about the relationship they had. _ Maybe he was still too hot, too rash, too impatient. He hadn’t moved except to shake out a bit. Hadn’t taken a swing. Maybe he was ready.  _

Taker stepped back and turned toward his house. He looked over his shoulder and directly into Dean’s eyes for the third time that night. “You want to talk? Maybe it’s best we go inside, Moxley.”

Taker turned and walked up his back porch steps and through his door leaving Dean outside. He hadn’t moved a muscle at the name. His feet stayed rooted to the ground he stood on as his entire body trembled. He was furious, and confused. 

Finally, Dean turned around and looked at the door Taker had disappeared through. He had left the hardwood door open and only the screen door shut to keep out the night insects. Taker never left his door open. Dean, taking long strides and short breaths, followed Taker’s path up the stairs and through the door. Taker stood in his kitchen, his back to the sink. The light from the ceiling was dim but lit up the kitchen well enough. It was older, probably built in the 1970’s as Dean’s own cottage, and still had the formica countertops and avocado green paint on the cabinets. 

“Decided you want to talk?”

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” Dean answered. “You don’ get...you just...what do you know old man?”

“You finally figure out, you _ think _ , I’m an immortal and that I wouldn’t know who you are? That I’ve had my finger off the pulse of everything that goes on?”

“I didn’t say I knew what  _ type _ of immortal,” Dean hissed. He moves slowly placing the kitchen table between him and Taker. His guard is fully up now. The use of his old name bringing all his hackles to stand on end.

“The type that is going to ask if you want to sit down at that table you slunk around to put between us, like it would protect you, and talk about it.”

“Talk about it,” Dean repeats. He looks down at the old table. Yeah, great move, he saw right through that. “Talk about it? Talk about how you think you know me. Think you know what I’ve done. Like you understand?” Dean’s voice is starting to get louder. Whether from fear or repressed anger he isn’t sure. “I was cast out, shoved aside, stored away like an old toy, and you think for a second you could possibly understand?”

“I may understand more than you think.” Taker turns his back to Dean. He opens a cabinet and removes two tumblers. He places one on the table at the spot nearest him and the other at the seat directly across where Dean stands. He grabs a bottle of whisky from the same cabinet and pours himself two fingers. He hesitates over Dean’s glass. “Wait, are you 21 yet?” Taker asks, giving Dean a quick uncharacteristic wink. Dean wants to stay angry. He wants to stay guarded.  _ Was that a joke?  _

“You know my true name. You know damn well I’m far older than 21.” Dean’s voice is lowered back to normal now. He sits down because he thinks it can’t really get any worse. Even if Taker knows what he did, he still invited him in, sort of. He left the door open. He poured him a drink. “So, how?”

Taker pulls out his own chair and sits. “I  _ was _ an immortal.”

“Was?” Dean picks up his glass and takes a sip. He doesn’t visibly react to the confession or the alcohol.

“The pavilion of the gods is familiar to me. I used to live there once upon a time.” Taker sips his own whiskey. “23,000 years is a long time to be responsible for things going on here on Earth. Managing the nature of beasts and the physical habitat is one thing, but throw the beginnings of human civilization in that mix, and that’s 6,000 years of hell. Not that humans aren’t outright beasts like the rest. No, worse than the rest. And the start of the 1800’s, that’s when everything went straight to hell.”

“Wait, wait,” Dean interjects, with a wave of his hand. He’s all skeptical shocked. “You’re telling me you were a god?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.” 

“Then why are you here? If this is hell, then why are you here?” Dean throws both hands up in the air. “I mean my own banishment has been something of a hell, so I get it, but what did you do wrong? What got your ass thrown out? How long have you been here!?” He sits back in his chair and slumps a bit. “How long am I stuck here?” he almost whispers.

“I wasn’t banished. I retired.” Taker replies matter of factly. He’s leaning his elbows on the table, both hands encircling his glass. 

“You retired!?” Dean’s raising his voice again. “You retired! Just said, hey guys, I’m old, I’m off to Earth, to retire...near this shitty beach surrounded by these shitty humans!”

“I was tired, Dean. I asked to retire and become mortal to live out the rest of my days. After I retired they split my job into three and dispersed them to lesser gods: Animal Nature, Environment, and Hidden Creatures. Life on Earth was changing rapidly and it was more than one god should have tried to handle. It was a mistake to ask that of one god. A mistake the King of Gods freely admitted to.”

Dean can’t help the laugh that bursts its ways free from his chest. “My father? My King of Gods father admitted he was wrong? That must have been  _ a day _ !”

Taker’s mouth draws into a thin line and he regards Dean with colder eyes. “The King knows what he is doing. Look where he put you? Right next to me. You think that’s a coincidence? He didn’t ask me. Just plunked your sorry bratty ass down next door to me. I’ve known who you were since the second you stumbled out of the front door looking confused as if it were the day you were born. I may have retired but I know the Goddess of Animal Nature and the God of Environment had their hands full with you. You think I’m here because I enjoy it? I’m here because they needed me to keep my eyes on the Hidden Creatures, even in retirement, because some punk wasn’t doing his job. Said he needed more time to mature, any day now he would come around, and,” Taker doesn’t get to finish because Dean stands up nearly knocking his chair back. He leans over the table glaring at Taker.

“Shut up!” Dean yells. “You don’t know me! Ya don’t even have the story straight.” 

“Don’t I?” Taker replies, motionless, with the same intense stare. His voice is still even and the volume well under control. “Sit down, Dean.”

Dean’s not sure why but he does as he’s told. The pain he felt when his apprenticeship abruptly ended and he was deposited on Earth returning full force. They had abandoned him and his training. Wrote him off as incompetent and unwilling. He had thought he was ok with that. If that was the case, then why was he feeling the sting of Taker’s words like the events of that day were happening right now. “Why?” he says out loud, not intending to. 

“Why, what?” 

“I failed. They gave up on me. Threw me out. Why stick me down here next to you then? You were a high god,” Dean suddenly realizes, his face going slack. If Taker’s job was split into three and given to lesser gods, that made him...Dean suddenly felt dizzy. _ That’s it, I’m stuck here forever. Disrespecting a high god...retiree. _ Surely that would earn him lifetime banishment. 

“You’re not going to be stuck here forever,” Taker answers. 

“Stay out of my thoughts,” Dean requests weakly. “You’re not supposed to use that power on your own kind.”

_ It’s an abuse of power?  _

“Yes,” Dean answers. “Oh, shit. ‘M sorry.”

“No matter,” Taker responds. His mouth relaxes and his eyes clear. “You’ll learn how to control it better, just as how you’ve been testing, learning to deal with the semi-immortality you possess. Your father didn’t leave you totally stranded. He took from you, and let you keep, what he thought you needed to keep you safe. And he set you up next to me.”

Dean thinks back on everything he had learned about himself over the past year. He had a lot of adjusting to do. When he had walked out of his front door for the first time after waking up in his house he was confused. One moment he had been walking away from his father, Callihan at his side, the next he had woken up in a bed, on Earth. He had been left with shelter, food, clothing, and all the financial support he could ever need. All of his documents read Dean Ambrose in the name sections. He could feel in the core of his being that his immortality had been stripped from him. Though he was no longer immortal he was able to tolerate conditions and physical hardship that would have killed an ordinary man. He also still possessed the ability to communicate with animals verbally and sometimes telepathically. Dean picks up his tumbler and downs the rest of his whiskey all at once.

“So, demi-god, are you ready to be mentored yet? I’m not getting any younger.” Taker questions. He had purposely let Dean have the space to think and when he finished his drink saw that as the opportune time. 

“Hidden creatures?” Dean looks at Taker, and raises his eyebrows. “Sort of like us.”

“More fantastic. We’re boring in comparison.” 

Dean feels a tug in his chest. He hopes he’s ready because he can’t fail again. He remembers the last time he failed, his whole face falling. “Want them all safe. ‘S my job. What I should have been doing all this time.”

“Good. You’re ready then,” Taker assesses. 

“When does training start?” Dean asks, more meekly than he has ever represented himself in his life.

“Training?” Taker laughs, more heartily than Dean has seen since they met. “I’m retired, remember? My ‘old’ ass is mortal with none of your increased strength and resistance. You’ll always be welcome to come to me for advice, but you’re on your own fighting this out, kid. The actual work is up to you.” 

“On my own...protecting the hidden rare and mystical creatures of Earth from the assholes that are everywhere? Well, fuck me.”

“There’s one more thing that may interest you,” Taker’s eyes glint, knowing he’s about to drop a bomb on Dean, on top of everything else.

“What?” Dean asks, sounding exhausted. He stands up because he needs to go home. He needs to sleep on all of this and consider his next course of action.

“She’s alive. Your father doesn’t know. I put her into hiding when the world was getting too nosy. Blame Hollywood and their movies. Tell people that the last of anything could be somewhere and they all go looking for it.”

“She?” Dean questions for what feels like the thousandth time that night.

“The last one your father thought you let slip away. She’s alive, and I know how to find her.”

Dean feels like all the air has been pushed out of his chest. Like he’s been kicked square by a hooved titan. He can’t breathe. He closes his eyes trying to regain composure. When he opens them he’s on his knees, the floor so much closer, he doesn’t even remember sinking down. Taker gives him a moment before taking one of Dean’s elbows and helping him back to his feet. Dean is still slumped over on his feet when he shifts his eyes up to meet Taker’s. His voice is ragged, there’s an edge he doesn’t recognize, and tears he won’t allow to fall are stinging in his eyes. 

“Tell me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taker is really gonna to lose all this hair with this one.

Taker had sent Dean home to think on all that had been revealed to him the night before. Taker’s orders to head back to his own house and rest had nearly sent Dean over the edge. He had felt an immediate sense of responsibility toward finding her and making sure she was safe, and that she stayed that way. He had been ready to set off, in the middle of the night, but Taker could see that he would never succeed as exhausted as he was and likely to be brash in his interactions. If he was going to succeed he would need every ounce of empathy he possessed. He was also going to need mental and physical fortitude because Taker wasn’t quite sure how Dean would be received. 

As Dean lay awake in his bed, unable to find a comfortable position for nearly the duration of the night, the feeling of purpose grew heavier and heavier in both his mind and his body. This was his purpose. He had been born to fill this roll and as much as he had tried to wiggle out from underneath it during his training, it was definitely his to bear. Finally, sometime just before dawn he fell into a restless sleep - the sort of sleep where even after you wake up you have the sensation of not being fully under. He has a vague memory of Callihan’s face and running from something in a mist, his dream wisping away before he can fully grasp it. He hasn’t dreamed in the year he’s been on Earth, even on the nights he was able to accept his current situation and sleep soundly. Dean frowns as he lays with his covers pulled up to his chin. The vision is becoming less clear the longer he is awake. He feels a small stab of loss as his friend’s face vanishes from his mind. A whole year without a single word, a single vision, from his best friend. Dean wonders if Callihan had been prohibited from sending him dreams. Wonders if his father had spared Callihan or had thrown him out too. 

The very moment the sun peaks over the horizon Dean bolts out of bed. He throws on a pair of jeans and same t shirt from last night, quickly brushes his teeth, and combs his fingers through his hair. Catching his reflection in the mirror he scoffs,  _ Whatever _ . He moves through his house to the back door like there’s a fire inside, only stopping long enough to pull on one boot and tie the laces before just yanking the other on. Seconds later he’s standing at the back door to Taker’s cottage banging repeatedly with his fist. He stops to bend down to tie his second boot up as Taker answers the door. 

“Dean, it’s barely morning,” Taker says, grumbling and still only half awake.

“But it is mornin’!” Dean replies, casually pushing his way past Taker who just stands in his doorway looking out, his face resembling something like remorse for his peace and quiet. This is going to take all of  _ his _ fortitude as well. He reminds himself he agreed to this because passing the torch is what he needs to do to retire. He also wants his creatures safe, and now that includes Dean, so he has to at least give him a primer and some warnings. He stays paused facing out the back door taking in some deep breaths of fresh air, the way it feels and smells before the day turns humid. 

When Taker finally ambles back into his kitchen Dean has the coffee pot going and is rummaging through Taker’s cupboards looking for mugs.

“Upper right,” Taker directs. 

Dean opens the cabinet and removes two mugs. The coffee finishes brewing and he pours two cups, and leaving them black sets them on the table. He swishes his arm to the chair Taker sat in the night before.

“Inviting me to my own table? Bold of you, Mox.”

Dean tenses a little at the name. He sits and shakes his upper body, trying to get rid of the feelings it gives him.  _ Failure. Dishonor. Conceit. _ Taker sits across from him and eyes him knowingly.

“Doesn’t feel quite right.” It’s more a statement than a question from Taker. 

“‘S not mine,” Dean explains. “Not anymore. Not yet.”

“Yet?,” Taker questions. He knows full well what Dean’s intent was. He just wants to hear the young demi-god say it. Say that he knows he can do what is required of him. Taker wants that reassurance, that Dean is ready to take on his role. He wants to know that he is ready to begin to earn back his full power, but learn to yield it with precision and grace.

“I’m gonna prove I can keep them all safe. I know...I know I don’t have the benefits of all the teachers I could have. You’re my line, my only line, of help. I have no fucking idea how I’m gonna do it, but I am going to do it,” Dean professes. “I have to.” He looks up at Taker with bright eyes. His leg is bouncing erratically under the table and his fingers are drumming on the coffee cup in his hands. 

“Woah, slow down kid,” Taker says easily, trying to sober Dean. He appreciates his eagerness but he needs to slow down before someone gets hurt, including himself. “Let’s not forget you’re not immortal now. You do have to consider your safety too. You’ve studied these creatures and know some are downright dangerous if not immediately deadly. Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. This will be a long road. After I left my position the god who should have been my replacement ran off to chase tail, and that’s just about when you were ready to take apprenticeship. The rare creatures, the fantastic creatures, we don’t quite know where they all are anymore. I can teach you all you want about individuals or small communities but some have spread out or all but disappeared. They had to learn to rely on themselves, and only themselves, with no one to look over them.”

Taker lets that information sit with Dean. Lets it sink in that they’ve lost a lot of ground in the gap years between Taker needing to retire, his replacement abandoning his post, and Dean not taking his pledge seriously. The rare creatures had to become more resourceful. Some of them turned to each other, spending their efforts attempting to make sure their own kind or treasured friends remained safe. Some have hidden themselves away, believing that remoteness would be their salvation. Still others exist only for themselves as they always have. Dean spent decades of his life learning their ways when they were protected and now they have done exactly as he would have expected when left to fend for themselves. They’ve been doing just as he has, being left on Earth, with little to no guidance - surviving. 

“Need to make this right,” Dean whispers harshly. He lets the rest of the air in his lungs exit harshly. “I need to start now. With the one creature I let down most. She needed me, and I was fucking around. You gonna tell me now how to find her, old man? Get this started.”

One edge of Taker’s mouth curls up just a bit. He expends a great deal of effort to force his mouth back into a neutral position. He hadn’t wanted Dean to know just how pleased he was before he had even completed his first task, yet he had given himself away. Dean was observant, bordering on hypervigilant now that he had been stuck on Earth and sober, a trait that would serve him well but was not helping Taker in the least. Taker had to look away when Dean smiled fully at him, his cheeks rounding out his face, obviously pleased with himself. Taker stood up and moved to look out his kitchen window, carrying his coffee with him. 

“Ok then, Dean. Let’s get started.” Taker took a sip of his coffee. “First thing I want you to do is retrieve a couple of girls for me,” he finishes, taking another sip of coffee.

Dean looks confused, momentarily hesitating. “Dude, is that payment or something? If you want a couple girls I can head down to the nearest beach bar and be back in an hour.”

Taker starts coughing, having inhaled the last sip of coffee he had taken. He turns to Dean, still sputtering, and manages to choke out, “No Dean, I meant the thylacine and her protector!”

Dean’s mouth drops open making a near silent, “Ohhhh...” before he’s struggling, and failing, to contain a bout of laughter. Taker chuckles before shaking his head and then frowning in mock disapproval before sitting back down. 

Taker’s face levels out and he leans across the table toward Dean. “The thylacine,” and at the mention of the creature Dean leans in closer, his heart starting to hammer in his chest. This is how it all starts. This is how he begins to redeem himself. “When that damn movie came out about there being only one left, all the idiots for miles around where she was hiding came out of the woodwork with guns and traps and claiming to be the one who would finally capture the last thylacine. So, I took a trip. I found her because, well, retired god, I knew where she was born a year earlier...and I took her home with me. Her father died before she was born, her mother had died shortly after she was weaned, and she was the only cub in her litter. She truly is the last one. Your father thought my helpful theft meant that she had been caught or died, because he could not locate her. He acted before I could speak with him in regards to your punishment.”

A pain grows in Dean’s gut until it’s burning like he’s been stabbed with a hot knife. He wants to pummel Taker - the last miserable year of his life has been his fault. Taker can see the emotions churning in Dean’s eyes and feel the waves of anger roiling around the room, yet he stays calm in his seat. Eventually Dean starts to come down. The rational part of his brain overtaking the emotional, and he can feel Taker’s presence inside his skull. As disturbing as that is, as much an intrusion as it is, he allows it. Taker helps Dean pull memories of his arrogance and the futility of his father’s and previous mentors’ efforts to the forefront of his mind. He shows him the suffering he’s witnessed from the rare creatures. He shows him how he earned the thylacine’s trust and how when he took her it was because she was in imminent danger. Eventually, Taker leaves Dean’s brain to himself and watches the younger demi-god slowly come around.

Dean takes short breaths, recovering, because it gets crowded and a bit dizzying when someone else is in your head. When finally he is able to take a long breath in through his nose and out of his mouth all of his anger is gone. The remorse is gone and replaced by the urge to find and  _ protect  _ stronger than ever before. Taker waits until he senses understanding from Dean.

“When I got her back here I placed her in the protection of a siren. They’ve stayed local but once you showed up I warned them not to come around here unless there was an absolute emergency. The siren would be a valuable ally. They both would.” 

“A siren,” Dean breathes out, cast in confusion and the beginnings of anxiety. Sirens weren’t exactly safe creatures, but then really most of the rare ones were not, simply because they could not afford to be. 

“They’ve been here on the coast and you haven’t had a clue. I don’t need to warn you of sirens do I, Dean? The thylacine is but a suspected extinct animal, not that she is any less important. But the siren, she is powerful. I’ll tell you where to find them both on a fine Friday morning, but you must be aware that if you corner, or identify the siren she may not take kindly to you. I can’t guarantee your safety. The probability that she will try to tear you limb from limb to protect herself and the thylacine is...great. The thylacine as well may try to rip you to shreds. Feel free to drop my name. That may at least keep you alive.”

“Great,” Dean sighs out quietly, repeating Taker and imagining the potential threat. “Why is she here, the siren I mean? Why not with her own kind in the islands?”

“We don’t all fit into perfect molds,” is Taker’s cryptic answer. 

“So where do I find your girls, Taker?” Dean asks, ready as he will ever be to begin his life’s, however long that will be, work. He has no choice but to accept Taker’s evasive answers. Instead of arguing for answers he takes a drink from his cooling mug.

“Downtown, at the farmer’s market.”

Dean chokes on his cold coffee. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has his work cut out for him.

Dean knows as he begins searching the farmer’s market that he has only a couple of hours to find them. As the sun and the Florida heat rise the farmer’s market will begin to shut down for the week. He travels down the first row of tables covered in garden bounty and homemade soaps and crafts not really seeing the fresh veggies and painstakingly created product labels. His eyes are on the lookout for a siren and a thylacine. The oddness of the situation is still not lost on him. He wants to be amused but right now he really needs to focus on just finding them before they slip away. Taker would surely know how to find them if they manage to slip away but this is something Dean needs  _ right now _ . He won’t screw up again.

The midmorning sun is creating beads of sweat on his brow that are starting to run down into his eyes. Dean stops and uses the back of his wrists to wipe the sweat away and then stands in the center of an aisle scanning the area. He’s made it on to the second row of tables now and still no sign of them. There’s only one row left after this and if he makes it to the end of that he’s prepared to walk the whole place again, and the surrounding neighborhood if necessary.

\----------

“Rhea, no!” Nikki scolds as she slaps a cucumber out of the thylacine’s mouth. Rhea thought no one would see. The table owner certainly wasn’t paying any attention to the odd “dog” that Nikki always walked as she shopped on Friday mornings. She had been so good the entire trip as Nikki filled up their shopping bag. When they started to near the last few tables Rhea still hadn’t tried to take anything, so pushing her luck felt like the right thing to do. 

Rhea drops the cucumber on the ground. After her mouth is empty she stares up at Nikki and emits a low growl. Her mouth gapes widely in a threat display. 

“Don’ pull any of your attitude wit’ me, you mongrel,” Nikki snaps down at her. “You are gonna get us kicked out a here for good.”

_Mongrel?_ _I know you’re not talking to me!_ Rhea doesn’t speak but Nikki can hear her thoughts all the same, clear as day. To any human standing nearby it would sound like the odd medium-large-sized “dog” was just making random noises at its “owner”. She gapes her mouth open again before making a noise akin to something like a cat hissing. As Rhea carries on a few people start to take notice of the young woman, wearing a jacket as the morning heat rises, while holding the leash of her “pet” and a bag full of groceries.

“Your dog seems to be having a bad day, miss,” the table owner says to Nikki. He glances down at the “dog” dressed in a black lightweight coat that covers the length of her back. There’s a white skull and crossbones decorating the top to hide the exotic stripes that fall over her back. 

“Yeah” Nikki manages a friendly-fake chuckle, “probly feelin’ the heat. Forgive us and we’ll be on our way.” She hands the man a dollar bill and grabs the cucumber from the ground. 

“Yer drawing too much attention,” Nikki grumbles as she grabs Rhea by her riveted black leather collar and drags her away. As they’re walking Rhea is about to hiss at Nikki again because really, having to wear a leash at all is so degrading, but grabbing her by the collar is just the last straw. Nikki shoves the cucumber in Rhea’s mouth again before she can make any noise. Rhea immediately closes her mouth around the fruit and carries it into the alley where Nikki drags her. 

“What was that!?” Nikki exclaims after they’re situated in an alley between two buildings next to the market. She releases Rhea who spins around to face her friend. “You tryin’ to get noticed or something? We get noticed and our cover blown, then what will happen to us!?”

_ Was no need to grab my collar. The leash and coat are humiliating enough. You think I don’t hate that thing? I’m so sick and tired of being your “dog”. I can’t even be what I am! _

“Oh, and you think I can? Think I’m not sick of hiding in plain sight. This is how we stay safe, remember. We stick together, take care of each other and neither of us should have to worry,” Nikki responds in a hushed tone. She shifts her coat on her shoulders because quite honestly, Rhea isn’t the only one tired of wearing a coat to go out. Her wings are uncomfortably crushed against her back between her pulling them in tightly to her body and the added weight of the coat pushing them down. 

Rhea gives a full body shake, trying to get rid of the bad feelings before she remembers Nikki called her a “mongrel”. _You called me a mongrel! Now you’ve taken to calling me names? I’m a marsupial, not a dog! At least I didn’t get kicked out of my home you useless excuse for a songstress!_ _Get this thing off my back_ , she demands referencing the coat. 

Nikki puts their bag of fresh produce down before reaching down to unbuckle Rhea from her coat. She knows she should probably leave it on but she sort of feels bad about the “mongrel” comment. It softens her resolve just enough and she folds the coat up and places it in the shopping bag. She considers for a moment that the two of them are having an argument in an alleyway and should really get moving before anyone notices. She tries to shove off Rhea’s accusations but as she takes a few steps to move on toward their apartment she stops. Nikki turns on her heel back to face Rhea and bends down to glare directly in her face. Undeterred by the gaping mouth showing rows of teeth, Nikki whisper yells,” Don’ you ever bring up my past like that! I can sing. I can play a stupid harp. I can lure in any human day or night, night or day. But I won’ murder. I don’t even like the taste of human. Now who is insulting who?”

Rhea is a bit taken aback by the viciousness in Nikki’s voice. The bug is already under her skin though and before she knows it she’s allowing Nikki to hear, _ if you’re so good then, prove it! If you can’t fail then you have no need to fear death. That’s a thing right? If you fail, you die.  _

“Are you kiddin’ me!? You’re challenging me?” Nikki sputters. “You don’t believe me, after all this time? I have nothing to prove. No one is plucking my feathers to make a crown.”

_ Why should I take your word for it? _ Rhea is in way too deep to stop. She knows the legend well, that if a siren fails to lure in her target she dies. She in no way wants Nikki to die and knows she wouldn’t fail, but she’s finally gotten under her skin and she’s been itching to pick a fight. The nagging feelings of being repressed daily overwhelming any semblance of good judgement she may have. Someone had to shake things up around here. Taker hadn’t stolen her straight from the outback for her to hide in misery for the rest of her life. 

“I don’t fear death, Rhea. I have no reason to when I know I can sing in anyone, and I have no doubt in my abilities. If those idiots want to make me a pariah then I don’t care!”

_ Prove it. _

Nikki has also lost her better judgement at this point. Perhaps the repression is getting to her as well. She loves to sing, to make her voice heard, but hasn’t dared unless she is sure she will be drowned out by greater noise. And, Rhea is really pissing her off. Her face set in a deep frown she looks out from the alleyway with Rhea right next to her. She spots a man who appears to be alone and maybe in a bit of rough shape. He’s swiping at his forehead every few seconds in the sun. He’s also far enough away from the tables of the market that Nikki feels confident he will be the only one to hear her over the white noise of town. They can shake him or take him, whichever they need and maybe no one will believe him. “Yer on,” she glances down at Rhea before nodding her head in the man’s direction. “That one,” Nikki targets confidently. 

\----------

Dean is starting to feel frantic. He’s searched the market twice and he’s moved off a bit, considering how to case the surrounding neighborhood when he hears singing. It catches his attention immediately. He looks around him but doesn’t see any street musicians set up and the town common doesn’t usually have a music act in the mornings during the farmer’s market. He strains his ears listening closely to pinpoint where it’s coming from. The words don’t sound like any language he’s heard before, but he’s learned enough to finally understand that he doesn’t know everything. He comes to a halt on the sidewalk and his head whips to the right. He spots the face of a girl and a dog-like creature peering out at him from an alley. 

The faces disappear into the alley before Dean can process what is going on. The singing has stopped but he knows that it was from the girl, and…wait. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he realizes that he’s found them. He can’t let them get away, but he also doesn’t want to scare them. He’s not sure how that is going to go since they’re not expecting him. He also doesn’t care to go home with any fresh wounds. 

\----------

_ You did it! _ Rhea wiggles in joy when she and Nikki have retreated to the back of the alley. Nikki, however, isn’t so pleased. He’s not running to her. She knows he saw her but was that just because she was making noise or was this just another failure and she was about to die. Nikki clutches at her stomach because she suddenly feels sick. This was reckless, and now they’re in trouble, and Taker will have no idea what happened. Nikki is nearly doubled over when Rhea notices her condition.

_ Nikki _ , she noses at her arm.  _ Nikki, what’s going on? Are you ok? _

“I, I don’t think...I don’t know, if it worked,” Nikki manages. She feels sick that she is sure of. What she’s not sure of is if this is the end or she’s having one hell of an anxiety attack.

Rhea jumps around to Nikki’s other side trying to sniff her all over. She’s a predator after all, she should be able to smell death.  _ I don’t think...  _

Rhea’s thoughts are cut short by Dean slowly entering the alley. He’s crouched slightly, his arms out to his sides, moving as if he were approaching, well, dangerous animals. Rhea positions herself in front of Nikki, raising up on her hind feet, the hackles of her tawny coat up. She gapes her mouth a full 80 degrees threatening the stranger with all of her sharp teeth. The hissing sound escaping her throat is menacing. The stripes in her coat ripple over her back as the muscles underneath twitch. 

Dean stops where he is just a few steps into the alley. The creature before him is impressive and definitely ready to shred him to pieces if he takes one more step. “Were you just singing?” he directs at Nikki, who seems to have straightened up, even if she’s just faking strength at this point. 

“Depends,” Nikki responds. “Did you feel compelled to find me?”

“I did,” Dean admits, “but probably not for the reason you think.”

_ I don’t like him _ , Rhea communicates to Nikki.  _ Something’s not right. He’s not right. _

Dean looks back to Rhea. She’s still holding her position, not giving Dean an inch. “Didn’t expect ya to like me right away, but saying I’m not right is a little harsh.”

Rhea slowly sinks back to all four feet but doesn’t lessen the rest of her bodily threat displays. She slowly backs up until she’s next to Nikki. She’d never admit it but she’s scared. Of course, she doesn’t need to tell Dean his new presence has frightened her. He can read it all through her mind and feel it radiating off her body. 

The three of them stand in silence and stillness until Nikki finally breaks. “What is going on here!? Did I lure you to me or not!? I’d really like to know if I’m dying!” She steps toward Dean with intent. He’s not sure what intent. Nikki is not sure with what intent. Rhea stops gaping and hissing, running to Nikki’s side her hackles still on end. 

“Look,” Dean says in the gentlest voice he can manage. “No one is dying here today if I can help it. My compulsion to come to you was based on the fact that I was already trying to find you.”

“Then I’m dying,” Nikki states, matter of factly. She looks down at Rhea, who just looks confused. Ready to have a go, but confused. Rhea begins to crouch and Dean can tell she’s making to set off at him. “Go now, or it won’t be without a fight.” 

Dean stays rooted to the spot he’s standing on. He’s not sure if it’s the wisest decision he could make. He really doesn’t know what he’s doing at all. He’s debating how to tell them what he is. Should he just come out with it? Should he drop Taker’s name like he said if he got in trouble? He needs them to trust him. He knows the thylacine is no match for him, she’s smaller and mortal, but he’s not entirely sure that the siren couldn’t mortally wound him. 

Nikki meant that she would not go down without a fight. She sheds her jacket and shakes it off as her long brown hair falls around her face. The jacket falls to the ground and Dean follows its movement. When he looks back up she’s wearing a maniacal grin. Suddenly, ivory feathered wings swish up to their full span as she glares at him. 

Dean gasps at the sight in front of him. A fully winged siren and a thylacine, both ready to destroy him. They’re breathtaking. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone really is just doing the best they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! (Dr. Ian Malcolm voice) Life uh, gets in the way.

Taker is putting around the house, tidying up after decidedly too long, when he feels it. It’s not something that hits him hard so much as a feather light wisp. It’s tension. He stops what he is doing and places the rag he was cleaning with down. He stands up tall, closes his eyes, and takes in a deep breath that fills his lungs completely. With the intake of breath comes the hint of tension in the atmosphere, stronger this time. Only powerful beings could cause a disruption of this kind, so that he could detect it from miles away. It’s still not a hard hitting feeling. It’s not a catastrophe or a major event. It’s just enough of a disturbance that he knows.

\----------

_ We’re gonna kill you. Nikki’s gonna kill you _ , Rhea asserts to Dean. She advances a step with Nikki in sync. Nikki’s wings are vibrating with energy. Dean knows Rhea isn’t lying. He’s cornered two of the rarest creatures on Earth and they are going to make sure that they make it out alive. His humanness is of no consequence to them. They’ve been hurt by humans too many times. They’ve been forced to live in hiding. He has no doubt they mean what they say. Still, the vision is glorious. 

He has to make himself known before this goes any further. No part of him wants to see either of them hurt if he is forced to fight back. He decides to take a chance. 

“You may as well just calm down,” Dean says dismissively. His body posture relaxes and he moves to lean against the nearest wall. Nikki and Rhea both just stare at him flabbergasted. He’s not running, he’s not begging for his life, and he’s not fighting. They have no idea what to do. He looks at Nikki before telling her, “You’re not dying today,” and then he shifts his eyes to Rhea before telling her, “and you’re not killing anyone today either.”

“Well who the hell are you then?” Nikki spits out at him, the anger draining from her body even as she tries to hold on to it. She is also certain now she’s not dying. 

“You gonna believe me if I tell you?” he asks, picking at his fingernails.

Rhea emits a low growl.  _ We don’t like games. Tell us what you want from us or get lost. _

Dean holds up a hand placatingly. “Ok, ok. I’m Dean.”

“And?” Nikki pushes.

“A demi-god,” Dean suggests. “Taker sent me. Probably immune to the pull of siren song.”

_ You could have led off with that _ , Rhea snarks as she returns to Nikki’s side and presses against her leg. 

“Taker. Sent you,” Nikki repeats. She almost doesn’t believe him. 

“Said in order to save the world I have to start by finding his girls. Was hoping maybe you’d want to get out of this shithole and help me. Maybe?” Dean is relaxed, looking between Nikki and Rhea. Nikki decides to believe him. Rhea, reading her body language decides to believe Dean too. 

“I know about you.” Nikki and Rhea recoil a bit at those words but relax when he says, “Taker told me how important our mission is. Seems the next chapter starts with us.”

“With us?” Nikki, looks doubtfully from Dean to Rhea, and back to Dean again. 

“I need your help. The rare creatures of Earth need me to help protect them, and I need your help to get that done.” Dean flashes a full smile, dimples and all, at them both. It’s simultaneously mischievous and pleading. 

\----------

_ I swear if he is lying and Taker is not here I will find a way to kill him _ , Rhea communicates to Nikki as softly as she can. They’re walking through Taker’s front lawn, Dean leading Nikki and Rhea. Nikki’s coat is back on, hiding her wings. Rhea still refuses to wear hers, her fur not laying flat from their meeting. 

It doesn’t make a bit of difference because Dean promises out loud, “He’s here.” He can sense Rhea’s annoyance at the intrusion. He reminds himself he has to learn to control when his mind is open to other’s thoughts better. It’s one thing to communicate with Rhea as he needs to but another entirely to intrude her private thoughts for herself or to someone else. 

Dean leads them around the back of the house where Taker is waiting for them. He’s leaning against his doorway like he’s wondering why it took them so long. Before he can say a word Dean is being shoved aside from behind as Nikki and Rhea rush past him on either side to get to Taker. Nikki grabs him by the arm, smiling widely, and jumping in place. Rhea runs up and the big man leans down to easily scoop her up with his free arm. She snuggles into his side, her body relaxing and her fur laying smooth. 

Dean recovers his footing before taking in the sight in front of him. Taker is cradling Rhea in one arm, which would be no easy feat since she weighs what Dean estimates approaching 60 pounds as she reaches up curling her head into his neck. The grin on Nikki’s face is positively brilliant. 

Dean hates to break up the scene but he still needs more answers. “Found ‘em. Never pictured you as the soft type.” 

Taker glowers at Dean momentarily before gruffly demanding, “Get inside.”

Taker turns and disappears through the door ushering Nikki in before him. Rhea is peering back over Taker’s shoulder, her eyes showing a mixture of relief and distrust as she regards Dean. Dean waits a moment after they all go in. He stands alone in the back yard considering the morning’s events. He found her. He found the thylacine and she is safe. Now he just has to earn her trust. Not only does he have to earn her trust but he has to earn a siren’s trust. He hopes with everything he has that he has it in him - that he’s worthy. 

\----------

Dean walks into Taker’s kitchen to what feels like a family reunion. Nikki is chatting animatedly at Taker about all the things she and Rhea have been doing since he sent them on their own. A year, a whole year, he’s missed out on. Sometime between coming inside Taker’s home and Dean wandering in after, Nikki had shed her coat again and as she’s recounting her and Rhea’s daily life her wings vary in position from relaxed against her back to slightly flared. Taker is sitting at his table, listening intently as if what Nikki has to say is the only important thing on Earth at that moment. Rhea is situated on Taker’s lap, her head pressed to his chest, her body language and her facial expression soft. Her eyes are closed as her body hums with contented energy. It’s obvious to Dean that Taker is the type of leader that the community deserves. He feels somewhat guilty that they are stuck with him as protector instead.

Dean walks by Taker to take his seat across from him at the table. His boots land a bit heavy, burdened, on the floor and Rhea lifts her head up from Taker’s lap to growl quietly at him. “Easy Rhea,” Taker says as he gently lays his hand over the top of her rectangular head. The action soothes her and she lays her head back down. “Ah, beware the famous Tazmanian tiger,” he directs at Dean with one of his rare barely there smiles.

_ It’s ferocious. _ Rhea corrects.  _ Ferocious. And thylacine. Last I knew Tazmania wasn’t on the mainland.  _

“Ok, ok” Taker concedes. “Beware the _ ferocious thylacine _ .”

“Are we gonna have to get a sign for the yard now?” Dean asks. He’s attempting to make a joke, but as always he’s starting to test his limits. 

Rhea lifts her head up again and stares directly into Dean’s eyes. For the second time in as many days he feels like his soul is exposed. She doesn’t make to move from Taker’s lap but her hard stare tells Dean exactly how she feels about his joke. Nikki on the other hand starts laughing. It starts as a little chuckle and grows into a full, close to crazy laugh. Dean is thankful when it draws Rhea’s stare from him onto Nikki. Even Taker is struggling to hold in a guffaw, spurred on by Nikki’s riotous laughter. 

_ That’s funny, huh? Hmm, hilarious. _ Rhea slides off Taker’s lap and slinks into the living room. She hauls up onto the couch and curls up, pouting.

Dean starts to open his mouth to apologize, or whatever may come out of his mouth, he isn’t sure, but Taker just holds his hand up silencing him. Dean is confused. He’s not sure what to do. He failed Rhea once, he can’t fail her again. This is supposed to be the start of him making amends for all that he’s fucked up. 

Nikki sits between Taker and Dean at the table. She clears her throat before speaking to Dean. “Let her go. She’ll come around. Rhea’s been through a lot. We’re all she has, Taker and I. The fact that you’ve just waltzed on into her life, it’s hard for her.” 

Taker looks thoughtfully at Nikki. “You’ve both grown up,” he admits. 

“Not too much,” Nikki beams back at him devilishly. 

“Just enough,” he replies. The three of them sit in silence for several moments. Taker looks over at Dean who looks like he’s struggling to understand what comes next. “When I took her in,” he speaks in reference to Rhea, “she bit me. All the time. It took months for her to stop biting me. At least you don’t have that to contend with.”

“Maybe,” Nikki snickers, ducking her face into her hands. “Never bit me. She likes me. Most of the time.”

Dean groans, rubbing his eyes. “Not really a fan of getting bit. I’ve seen a lot of all those sharp teeth this morning. Pretty sure she hates me.” 

“Nah,” Taker dismisses. “She doesn’t understand you yet, or herself fully. She doesn’t understand what makes her special besides being the last of her kind. I sent her off with Nikki, that’s on me. I stole her, I gave her consciousness because I believed that would help keep her safe, and then I sent her away so that I could help someone else. That probably didn’t help any.”

“Me,” Dean states, guilt seeping into his bones. 

Nikki glares at Dean, not maliciously, but thoughtfully. Why is he harboring so much guilt? Why is that a feeling she repeatedly feels from him? Taker obviously trusts Dean, and that makes Nikki want to as well. She understands the position they are in. She understands her own position. Unwanted by her kind but still very much cared for. It’s become obvious that finding Rhea had been his main goal but she wonders if perhaps Dean will accept her for who she is. Broken people often find other broken people. They’re easy to spot if  _ that _ is your kind, regardless of species. 

Taker stands up from the table and peers down at Nikki and Dean. “I have a few errands to run. Think the three of you can keep from killing each other before I get back? Nikki, if you like Dean can help you fetch your things from the apartment tonight after the heat dies down. You can use my truck.”

“Just to clarify,” Nikki responds, looking innocently up at Taker, “We should wait until you return to kill ‘im?” 

Taker breathes heavily out through his nose. He’s about to give an exasperated retort about not making him regret his choices when Dean cuts him off.

“Sure, I’m glad to volunteer. I have no plans...apparently. Just, let me help the creatures plotting my death move before they kill me. Nothing says ‘thank you for helping me move’ like a murder attempt.”

Taker rolls his eyes before sliding into his trenchcoat like a second skin and plopping his hat on his head. He knows full well that no one is about to kill anyone else in this house. Still he mutters, “Don’t mess up my house,” as he slips out the door. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of bonding for our current characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say thanks for coming along on the journey if you're still reading!

“So that’s all decided then,” Nikki says flatly to Dean after Taker closes the door behind him.

“Well, it would seem that way,” he responds. “Look you don’t have to help me. I don’t really know what Taker is getting at, trying to just stick us all together. I don’t know you, you don’t know me.”

“Know you better than you think probably,” Nikki asserts, one corner of her mouth quirking up. “What’s yer story Dean? Taker doesn’t go out of his way for just anyone. My guess is you’re like the rest of us that have passed through this house. Seeking refuge from a past that doesn’t want you. Doesn’t need you anymore.”

“My past doesn’t matter. It’s my future that matters.” Dean leans back in his seat a bit more. He looks to Nikki like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. She’s not sure why but she believes him. 

She considers his words and his posture.  _ Nope, much too heavy, this won’t do _ . A wicked thought creeps into her mind. Nikki’s eyes bore into Dean until he feels her and looks up. He sees something impish flash across her features, and she opens her mouth into a half-smile. Her teeth are similar to his, but they’re just pointy enough to make him uncomfortable. They sit like that in the still air of the house as several seconds go by. Dean can count them as the analog clock on the wall ticks. 

Without any warning Nikki jumps up from her seat and stands on it. She extends her wings fully, rattling them in the air over her shoulders and leans over the table at Dean. Her display is full of teeth and menacing sounds somewhere between hissing and screeching. 

“Gods! Fuck!” Dean leaps out of his chair, almost tripping over it. He’s about to make for the door when Nikki jumps down from the chair in raving laughter.

“Ohhh, I got you good!” she delights. “‘S been a while since I had anyone new t’ mess with!” she manages to breathe out between laughing fits. She pulls her wings back in and grabs the back of her own chair to steady herself as she jumps down. The best thing Nikki has seen in quite some time, besides Taker’s face, is Dean’s. 

Dean is crossed somewhere between annoyance and confusion as he realizes he’s not actually in danger. He stands in the kitchen, one hand on his chair and the other on his thigh as he leans over, taking some time to recover, feeling his blood pressure come down and the adrenaline pump through his veins. If he’s honest he likes the adrenaline boost. He hasn’t pushed himself too far in a while. 

“Ya looked sad.” Nikki chuckles again. Dean joins in now, letting out a few breathy snickers.

“So that’s your fix? Scare the fuck outta me?”  _ What on Earth has he gotten into? _ “You’re crazy!” Dean accuses Nikki, eyebrows raised, and a finger pointed at her. There’s a hint of amusement in the way his lips are curved. 

Nikki’s tongue sticks out between her sharp teeth before she replies, “Nah! Eh, maybe, a little,” she grins again. “Don’t mess with me, or Rhea, and you won’t have to see just how crazy I am.”

Dean’s face drops for a minute as Nikki’s smile fades with her last words. She snorts, trying to stifle another laugh. “Too easy. You’re gonna have to learn I’m only serious when I have to be if we’re gonna work together on your project. But when I’m serious, it’s deadly serious.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Dean says, with a slight shake of his head. “I was trying to be nice since we just met and all but, expect the same from me.” 

“So, about your past, and about your project?” Nikki inquires sitting back down in her chair. 

“My past,” Dean starts as he sits as well, “you were somewhat correct about. I didn’t want it, didn’t think it needed me, but it seems I was wrong. I made a lot of mistakes, I hurt people, but I’m trying to set it right.” He searches Nikki’s face for any trace of disdain but finds none. 

“I can’t kill.” The confession from the siren is so somber and quiet that Dean wonders for a moment if he’s being tricked again. She holds his gaze, her face doesn’t waver, and he knows it’s true. 

“Can’t or won’t?” he asks.

“Won’t. What’s the point?” She’s still meeting Dean’s eyes and he knows this is one of those times she mentioned about being deadly serious. “I don’t even like the taste. What good is a siren who can lure in humans to protect her islands but then can’t finish the job?”

“Plenty good,” Dean says quietly. He shifts his gaze so he’s looking down at his hands. He intertwines his fingers and digs his nails into the backs of his hands a bit. One of his legs bounces under the table. “You’re scary as hell,” he asserts, “and if you want to help me on my mission I could use someone like you. You have to be brave to be kicked out of your home, build a new life, and protect someone else.” He nods his head in the direction of the living room where Rhea had fallen asleep on the couch she was moping on. 

“I had help. If Taker hadn’t been around to bring me back here I’m not sure where I would have ended up. I do know what he is, you know,” she admits to Dean’s surprise. “He’s told me. We’ve not been totally forsaken. We have his protection but he can’t be everywhere.”

Dean’s heart  _ hurts _ . It starts with a twinge in his chest and before he knows it he can’t breathe. He’s struggling to inhale. He pushes his chair back enough to bend over, his hands gripping the chair seat under each of his thighs. He’s not sure how long he stays that way when he feels Nikki at his side. She’s down on one knee, her arm resting around him across the back of the chair. The hem of her pants on the other leg is riding up, and Dean catches a glimpse of scales underneath. 

_Breathe_ , she tells him. Even though she knows she can’t read his mind, she knows he can read hers. She opens her mind to him, and he feels for the first time what it is like to be invited into someone’s headspace. He reads only the part he’s invited to, finally able to determine how to define that space _. Breathe_ , she tells him again, a gentle reminder. _I know. It’s hard. Whatever it is._ _Just breathe._

Dean’s eyes burn. They’re brimming and before he can stop it a single tear escapes. It rolls down his left cheek and falls, seemingly in slow motion, to the floor. Nikki watches the tear fall and in that moment they both make declarations. 

“Gonna find ways to protect everyone. You, Rhea, creatures I haven’t met yet. Outcasts, entire species, everyone. I swear I will figure it out if it takes forever.”

_ Then I will spend eternity fighting for it at your side _ , Nikki vows. __

\----------

Dean is sitting in the living room chair, still recovering from his conversation with Nikki. She swore her loyalty to him.  _ Why? _ He’s trying to unpack everything but his brain is getting overwhelmed so he stops. The chair is situated across the room from the couch Rhea is still fast asleep on. The early afternoon sun is filtering through the curtains over the single window, casting a soothing orange light through the room.

Rhea looks peaceful, relaxed, and Dean wonders how long it’s been since she felt that way. He thinks back on what Taker told him of her past. Trust must be incredibly difficult. He can’t imagine the confusion of being taken as a child from your homeland, given a higher consciousness that you must suddenly learn to navigate, find a home with someone you trust, and then be kicked out of it and cut off from the person you trust, only to have to learn to trust another. It makes his mind spin, because in some ways he knows how that feels. Yet, here she is resting peacefully. She knows she is safe in Taker’s home. 

Dean watches as Rhea’s whiskers twitch and her large upright ears swivel erratically. Her muscles ripple down her back highlighting the dark stripes that start near the middle of her ribs and continue over her hips and part way down her tail before stopping. She’s strong. Her body is compact, packed with muscle that could take him off his feet if he wasn’t on guard. Her mind is sharp. He feels the same tug at his heart that he had earlier in the kitchen, only this time he can control his emotions better. Instead of breaking down it affirms for him, yet again, his objective is absolutely to keep himself responsible to the rare creatures of the world. This is the gaping hole in his existence that feels like it needs filling. He wonders who else is out there. Who else will invade his heart?

_ You always watch others sleep? _ Rhea opens one eye at Dean. 

“Only when I’m tryin’ to figure someone out,” he suggests. “Not generally a habit.”

_ It’s a bit creepy. _ She picks her head up and observes him. Dean’s expression is composed and he’s giving off vibes similar to Taker’s. It’s caring, she recognizes. _ I heard some of what you said earlier, to Nikki. You really think you can keep us safe?  _

“You always spy on people when they talk?” Dean quips. He waits for her answer, carefully only allowing himself access to the space she’s inviting him into.

_ Only when my life depends on it.  _ Her dark eyes dance around the room until she finally admits,  _ And whenever else I want because no one ever expects the “dog”.  _

“Marsupial.” Dean corrects, a small smile breaking his lips.

_ Yes, smartass. I’m a marsupial. Try to tell that to the average idiot who wants to pet the “doggie”. _

“I mean, you are supposed to be hiding, extinct. What, no head pats?”

_ Don’t ever try to pet me. Just because I haven’t bitten anyone recently doesn’t mean I won’t break my streak with you.  _ Rhea closes her eyes and lays her head back down on the cushion.  _ If Nikki is in, I am too. _

“I wouldn’t ask that of you. You’re special, but you could get hurt. You’re smaller and…” Dean is interrupted by Rhea.

_ Don’t underestimate me, Dean. I said, I’m in.  _


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean needs to clear his head, but ends up with more questions and tangled thoughts than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, y'all are getting antsy wondering when a certain someone shows up to start the slowburn you were promised...patience (also it could be like right now, but you'll have no idea unless you forge on).

Moving Nikki and Rhea’s belongings turned out to be an easy affair. One trip across town with Taker’s pickup was all it took. They both owned very little. Rhea didn’t have much use for human items and Nikki seemed to have small collections of things like shells and pins but nothing large. Most of the common items they knew Taker had at his house were left behind. Things like pots and pans, and the couch, things that would just clutter up a small cottage were left behind in the apartment. It was Taker’s apartment anyway and no one would bother with it. 

Back at the cottage, Dean helped Nikki move her mattress into Taker’s diminutive guest room. Rhea didn’t have a bed, she usually just crashed in Nikki’s or on the couch, and that suited her just fine. Now that the events unfolding had been set in motion she expected she would be in even less need of her own bed. 

__________

Dean needs some space to clear his head. His entire life had changed in the span of one day, again. He bids goodnight to Taker, Nikki, and Rhea and retires to his own cottage. He tries to stretch out on his couch, but feels restless. He goes to bed, expecting that to be more comforting, but the ceiling mocks him as he lies awake staring at it. He needs to get out. His bones are stabbing at the muscles itching under his skin. As he gets dressed and steps out into the night a familiar sensation sets in. 

The prickle down his spine as he walks the quiet night streets drives his feet. It was the nagging feeling of pushing his physical boundaries further and further, and he was starting to suspect that feeling always had more to do with his lack of action. Dean knows he can’t recklessly damage himself now. He can’t fail his new friends. Their lives are literally in his hands, in his decisions. He turns down the street that leads to the pier. A good jump off the end into the churning water should take the edge off. It always has in the past. 

Reaching the start of the pier Dean stops and closes his eyes. His mind is a jumble of words, and emotions, and visions, and it really is just all too much. He inhales deeply, the smell of the salt water igniting his being. He starts to run. The boards whir by under his feet and when he senses he is reaching the last third of the pier’s length he looks up. He can see the boards ahead are damp from the mist rolling in off the ocean. Not giving that detail a second thought he continues full speed over them and launches himself up onto the backrest of a bench.

He should be sailing effortlessly over the rail before the fall. It all seems to happen in slow motion; there’s nothing he can do about it. Dean feels the slip of his foot on the damp bench wood, feels his knee catch on the guardrail that usually prevents people from going off the end of the pier, and tumbles over the edge. The fall doesn’t have the same mind-freeing magic it has every other time he’s done this. Instead, he feels like he weighs a million pounds, the word  _ wrong, wrong, wrong  _ repeating in his subconscious. 

Dean crashes through the surface of the water much too close to the pilings holding the pier up. Everything still feels wrong as he begins to struggle immediately, not letting himself get turned around or come to a gentle stop. As he’s struggling in a disoriented haze he feels what he thinks is seaweed brush his face. Dean pauses his struggling just long enough to brush the weeds from his face, only to find something else isn’t right. His fingers don’t feel weeds, they feel...hair? He snaps his eyes up, seeing clearly, and comes face to face with...a dark muzzle, mass of black hair, and wild brown eyes that are just as shocked as Dean’s. Startled, Dean throws himself backward with everything he has and the creature he is face to face with does the same. Between his own motion and the current created by the creature Dean reels back with force. His head contacts the piling he had landed too close to and everything goes black. 

The creature watches as the human in front of him hangs unconscious in the water. Normally other creatures don’t drop out of the sky, and burst under the surface nearly on top of you. Understandably he’s startled as well. He watches a few moments longer, noticing the way the human’s hair drifts with the current around his head. The creature also doesn’t miss the trail of blood the other is starting to leave in the water from the impact with the piling. There’s something different about this one, not like all the other humans. He can feel it but doesn’t understand it. The human body starts to sink. This should be of no consequence to the creature but he feels compelled, by what he doesn’t know.

A single thrust of his scaled tail has the creature within reach. He flexes his neck outward and grabs the collar of the human’s denim jacket in his teeth, the sandy blond hair tickles his delicate nose. He knows he’s going to regret this. Pulling the human through the water is no difficult task and before long the creature can feel rocks and then sand under his front feet. He uses his tail to propel them both up onto the shore. The creature finally lays Dean down on his side in the sand, the surf still creeping up around his torso. 

Between the air hitting his face and the surf brushing his body Dean wakes. He coughs up a decent amount of water before rolling onto his back. The back of his head  _ hurts _ , and the rest of it is thudding dully. He looks up, aware that someone, something, has dragged him ashore. His bleary eyes make out a siloutte against the backdrop of moonlight. A sharp breath assaults his lungs, feeling like daggers after being full of water. Looking back at him, deep brown eyes blazing with a mix of fury and confusion is a...horse? Dean takes in the chocolate brown hair coat, the color mixing with silvery light from the moon like an oil painting that will never dry. The creature’s head is angular and strong but meticulously featured. Finely shaped equine ears are framed by a black forelock. The well-muscled, arched neck is crested with a luxurious mane of long black waves matching the forelock.

The horse is snorting, his nostrils flared. Dean can hear an angry splashing noise. Lifting his head just enough he catches sight of a robust tail lashing in the waves. He’s just been saved by a creature of lore. Not a horse he realizes - a hippocamp. 

He’s exquisite.

__________

Roman is snorting and lashing in anger. He’s angry with himself. He’s not sure why he revealed himself in such haste. It’s a dangerous thing to do for someone like him. And yet, here he is, for all purposes raging over something he himself did. Any other time he would have been more careful, more guarded, he would never let himself be found and let the finder live to tell about him. But this man is...different. 

Demi-god and hippocamp stare at one another for a few more tense seconds before the creature careens backward out of Dean’s view. Dean sits up in time to see turquoise tail fins disappear under the waves. 

The walk home is quick. Dean walks direct and keeps his pace to just under a jog. He’s awestruck over the gorgeous creature that just revealed itself to him. The excitement he feels is damped by the thought that he could have just died. He’s supposed to be keeping Nikki and Rhea safe. He can’t do that if he’s dead. No more unnecessary risks. He can figure out what his body can take as he goes. He’ll have to find another way to clear his head.  _ His head. _

Dean reaches a hand up and gingerly touches the back of his head. He can feel the blood beginning to dry sticky in his hair. Not being able to see makes it hard to assess but he’s sure there’s a decent sized gash back there. 

When he reaches his cottage Dean goes immediately to his outdoor shower. He turns the water on and sheds his clothes, cursing as usual when he’s struggling out of soaked clothing, leaving them in a wet pile on the concrete. He gets under the spray and lets the water run over his head and watches as bloody streaks wash down the drain. Guilt and frustration wash over him, feeling as real as the water. He swore an oath to protect the rare creatures and here one was having to haul his dumb ass out of the ocean. One who definitely was not happy to see him. Dean can see the hippocamp’s emotions clearly in his mind: anger, confusion, fear. Fear is the one that hurts the most. Dean knows it’s his fault. 

When he’s satisfied the salt and blood are sufficiently rinsed from his body, Dean cuts the water off and goes inside. He grabs a pair of clean sweatpants and steps into them. He rummages through the drawers in his bathroom before finding a box of bandages he thought he’d never need again. When he had newly arrived a year before and was testing his body he had needed countless bandages, always scraping up his knees or elbows, or whatever other part. He finds a knee bandage before drying his hair better and leaning over to part it. Sticking the bandage to his head over the gash he can feel that it isn’t going to hold well, and not for long. It doesn’t really matter because in a couple of days it will be healed, like nothing ever happened. 

Making a quick stop in his bedroom, Dean pulls on a clean t shirt before walking back through his house and out his back door. His feet carry him straight through Taker’s backyard and to his friend’s cottage. Carefully he opens the screen and then the wooden door and slips inside. It’s dark and quiet. Taker would for sure know Dean has slipped inside, has every right to ask him to leave but Dean is met with silence. He feels safe, like he’s being wrapped in a warm blanket, and in the silence is a welcoming for him. Dean is thankful because he needs to be near them now. 

The admission shocks him. He’s never needed anyone. 

The day’s events catch up with him and he finds himself carefully feeling through the dark kitchen to the living room where the barest light from the moon fills the space with a soft glow. He lays down on the couch and makes himself as comfortable as possible. He hasn’t even closed his eyes when he hears soft padding from another room and turns to see Rhea enter. She slinks up and onto the couch, curling herself against Dean’s upper body without hesitation. 

“Have enough room?” Dean asks, awestruck for the second time that night. His mind is churning with delight and confusion that she chose him. 

  
_ Mhmm. Not a word.  _ Rhea advises sleepily.  _ Nikki’s kicking too much and Taker looks crowded all by himself.  _


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taker is really just...tired of herding these youngsters around. Can't a god retire in peace? 
> 
> Not until he gets these little shits all organized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here we go. I know some of you have been waiting for this.

In the morning Taker wakes first, just before sunrise. He shuffles his way past Nikki’s room and the darkness through the half-open door tells him she’s still asleep. As he makes his way to the kitchen for coffee, he stops in the living room door and peers in at Dean and Rhea sleeping curled together on the couch.  _ Huh. _

He likes when his plans work. 

It’s not long before Dean wakes in the darkness to the sounds of Taker moving about in his morning routine. He extracts himself from the couch without waking Rhea, managing to disturb her only enough for her to growl softly in her sleep and roll over. He has the undeniable urge to pat her shoulder but stops himself. The last thing Dean needs is to be bit while he’s still healing from last night’s injury. 

Dean finds Taker in the kitchen sitting at the table, coffee in front of him and a newspaper in his hands. The scene is downright domestic and Dean wants to razz his mentor over it but he remains quiet as his brain recalls the events of the previous night. Better to have the big man in a good mood if he has to explain himself. 

“Coffee’s in the pot,” Taker tells Dean, eyes still on his paper. 

Dean straggles to the cabinet, retrieves a mug, and pours himself a cup. Damn, his head is throbbing. The caffeine should help some. He sits at what has apparently become his seat at Taker’s table. Closing his eyes, Dean sighs and relaxes back into the chair. He knows Taker will have noticed the bandage, which thankfully stayed on as he slept. There’s explaining to do and he stays, eyes closed, until he can feel Taker waiting on him. Opening one eye, Dean sees Taker peering at him over the top of his lowered newspaper. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Taker urges, setting his paper down. He takes a sip of his coffee as he waits for his answer.

“The pier,” is what Dean manages to start with. “My head had an unfortunate meeting with a piling.”

Taker eyes Dean carefully. The wound would heal. For a demi-god like Dean it’s not that big a deal. There’s something heavier in Dean’s voice and the aura he’s giving off. 

“I was unconscious. Nearly drowned,” Dean admits, his voice trailing off. “Someone saved me,” he adds quietly. 

“Saved you?” Taker looks concerned. His voice reflecting as much. “You haven’t been on your own more than a single day and you already needed saving?” Taker bemoans, rubbing his hands up his face and over his head. “If you’re going to follow through with this, if you’re actually going to find creatures who don’t want to be found and try to convince them that you’re the key to their safety...you’re not immortal Dean, you have to be more careful.”

Dean sits, his shoulders hunched and his head lowered as he takes what feels like a scolding from a disappointed parent. “If it makes the situation any better I found another one. Someone, that is.”

“Found who?” Taker demands, mindful that Nikki and Rhea are still asleep.

“I don’t know. A hippocamp, that’s all I can tell you,” Dean manages. “Things are still a bit fuzzy…”

“Stop.” Taker interrupts the coming explanation. He doesn’t sound angry Dean susses out, so that’s a relief, but his expression is puzzling to say the least. Quiet house noises dominate the air between them as Taker processes what he’s just been told. He only knows of one hippocamp in the area, and yet here is Dean, still very much safe, in relative terms. 

Taker stands up, his coffee and paper abandoned. Dean stands as well, concerned over Taker’s response. 

“Did I do something that...is there something I should know...what…?” Dean struggles. 

“No. No, you’re fine,” Taker assures him absently. “I have to go out.”

“Right now?” Dean looks out the window over the sink. The sun will be up soon but 5 am is still dark. 

“Yes, right now. Take care of Nikki and Rhea. Make sure they have breakfast.” Taker slips his coat off the rack near the door and wraps it around him. His broad brimmed hat is next off the rack and as he’s settling it on his head he tells Dean, “I’ll be back soon.”

Taker disappears out the back door before Dean can ask any more questions. He decides to make himself some toast, then he sits back down while he waits. 

\----------

Taker stands on the end of the pier and looks out across the ocean. The wind had picked up overnight and now it tugs at the tails of his long coat. Waves roll in off the open water, windblown and sharp, and dark in the pre-dawn. The barest sliver of sun is appearing over the watery horizon as Taker closes his eyes, bows his head, and crosses his arms across the front of his body. He concentrates, deeply immersed in summoning. There’s a push back, a resistance, but he forges on creating a clearer picture in his head. Eventually he can feel the subject of his calling give in. 

Taker opens his eyes and sees the graceful equine head and neck bobbing in the water below him. The creature had broken the water’s surface noiselessly, covered by the wind and the waves crashing on the shore. He’s looking up at Taker with piercing eyes, the very idea of being summoned disturbing.

“Roman,” Taker calls out. “Get up here. We have some things to discuss.”

The hippocamp momentarily considers ignoring the request and diving back beneath the waves. What things could they possibly have to discuss? Roman tosses his head, his mane whipping around his neck. He puffs out through his nostrils. Taker sees the haughty display for what it is. A defense screen. 

“You didn’t kill him,” Taker calls out again.

Roman lets out a large frustrated huff before disappearing under the pier. Taker has a seat on a bench and waits. It’s not long before footsteps punctuate the sounds of the ocean in the earliest stage of dawn. Taker stands as a man, nearly as tall as himself, approaches. He’s dressed casually in black track pants, a white ribbed tank top, and running shoes. 

“I see the water-proof lock box is still doing its job,” Taker observes as the younger creature stops, standing toe to toe with him. The retired god understands the operation of shifting, even if he never had done it himself. Of course it’s different for other types but a hippocamp has no need of clothes. The creature before him crosses his arms and leans the weight of his head back. His long hair falls wet around his shoulders as he stares Taker directly in the eye. Taker knows the hippocamp, the man, is being cavalier. At this moment he can’t be fucked to bother with it. 

“You didn’t kill him.” Taker repeats.

“Was I supposed to?” Roman responds, his deep voice not wavering even after disuse. “Here I was thinking you gave me explicit instructions to not let him see me.”

“How did you know it was him?”

“I don’t know. I just did.” Roman rolls his head to the side and runs his tongue over his bottom lip once. “This all have a purpose? Did you summon me for any reason other than wanting to know why I didn’t kill one of your pets?”

“Yes,” Taker replies, his patience tested. “Your jaded ass needs a wake up.”

“You think you’re coming here to shake up my life? Old man, you have to do better than that.” Roman’s tone is defiant, disrespectful. Taker knows deep down it’s the product of years of hurt but that doesn’t make it easier to face. He’s starting to lose his patience.

“Don’t forget who you’re speaking to.” Taker leans in, his face closer to Roman. Where Dean needed space and gentler handling to coax out, Roman needs directness and force. 

“Now what?” Roman challenges, inching his face even closer to Taker’s. He has to reach up a bit still. And really with this display he’s damn lucky they have the history they do, that Taker has a history with Roman’s herd, otherwise he’d be tempted to knock the younger creature’s head clean off. 

Taker scoffs and turns his back on Roman, which only serves to incense him. Roman is massively ticked off and that will only serve Taker in the end. The walls the hippocamp built break down bit by bit as he gets increasingly agitated. Roman hates feeling. He’s hated feeling since he lost his herd - his family, his whole world.

“You ready?” Taker asks.

“For what?” Roman grits out, his teeth clenched, his fists clenched. He’s not going to use them, his fists or his teeth, but the frustration has to go somewhere.

“Dean is finally ready to be my apprentice. I’ve already sent for Nikki and Rhea.” 

Roman has history with Nikki. When his herd was whole in years previous he was diving in a secluded cave with his cousins. They were shoving each other about playfully when one of them noticed a figure huddled in the shadows. She had nearly attacked them in self preservation, but with an injured wing and broken spirit there wasn’t much fight left in her. Roman and his cousins had swum to his father, their band stallion, and he in turn had contacted Taker. Nikki healed under Taker’s care and eventually began to visit Roman and his herdmates regularly. She was the only one Roman would talk to after he was left alone. His walls break down a little further thinking about seeing her again. 

“That his name?” Roman asks. “The guy from last night?”

“For now,” Taker answers, so frequently cryptic Roman rolls his eyes. “I’ve told you of Rhea. The two of you are going to be impossible to live with.”

“I didn’t say I was living with anyone.”

“No. But you should consider that joining them will give you purpose. You’ll have safety in numbers again.” Taker knows the points to dig in. “You could have a family.”

“A family!?” Roman rages. “Man, you have lost your mind.”

“They’re about to embark on a mission, and you can choose to join or stay behind. Your choice, Roman. Stay here and wither alone beneath the waves, hiding your life away, or try to help them find others. Let the other hidden creatures know they’re not alone. The payoff is a global network, think about it. Besides,” Taker jabs again at that tender spot, “ they’re already well on their way to becoming family, with or without you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a crew.   
> What is Taker thinking with these personalities all in one small space?

Dean is still sitting at the table when Nikki drags into the kitchen flanked by Rhea. Nikki looks like she’s still half asleep, her hair mussed and strands across her face, wings drooping. Rhea is faring better with a loft to her gait. Her foot pads hit the floor more rapidly than they had last night when she meandered into the living room to curl up with Dean. 

Dean gives them both time to settle. Nikki takes a chair and rests her forehead on the table top. Rhea looks around before deciding on the mat in front of the kitchen sink. 

“Need to get you a stool or something,” he says, looking down at Rhea.

_ For what? _ Rhea’s brow crinkles. _ In case you hadn’t noticed it’s not like I can use a fork. _ She rolls to her side a bit so she can flip one paw around in the air.

“Nevermind.” Dean rolls his eyes at her. “Do you two want breakfast?”

“Do we have pancakes?” Nikki asks. 

Dean rummages through Taker’s cabinets and as he does Nikki notices the bandage on the back of his head.

“What happened? What did you do to yer head?” Nikki grills. “I swear if anyone…”

She’s cut off by Dean. “Nope. No pancakes. I smacked it on part of the pier last night.” Dean doesn’t tell her the rest of the story. He has no idea where Taker has gone off to and he can’t overstep his bounds. 

“Toast then,” Nikki says before scolding him. “You gotta be careful. Ya should stop doin’ shit like that.” Her accent gets heavier as her voice rises in concern. “Taker told us how you try things. One of these days yer gonna get yerself killed!”

_ Give it a rest, mother. He’s a grown man, demi-god, whatever. _ Rhea sits up on the mat.  _ What is there for me to eat? _

“Toast?” Dean offers. He’s countered by Nikki laughing. She’s not mocking him, he just doesn’t know, and she gets up from her seat. 

Rhea on the other hand is regarding him with squinted eyes and her mouth half open - she’s definitely silently judging him.  _ Not if I can help it.  _

Nikki finds a plate in the dishrack near the sink and opens the fridge. She pulls out a slab of meat Taker had defrosted overnight and slides it onto the plate. She puts it on the floor in front of Rhea and watches her tear large pieces off before swallowing. It doesn’t take her long to finish. 

_ Why is everyone watching me eat!? _

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean tries to placate her. He’s about to make Nikki some toast when the knob on the back door turns. 

All three creatures face the door in varying states of readiness. Dean’s fists are balled up ready to start throwing down. Nikki’s teeth are bared and her wings tense. Rhea is standing with her head lowered, her jaws gaping, and a spine of hair sticking up down her shoulders and back.

It’s Taker that enters. All three creatures relax until they see someone behind him. They remain tense and suspicious but restrained. He is with Taker, entering his own home, after all. When the two large men enter the kitchen it’s dead quiet, until Nikki shrieks in delight. She hasn’t seen him in so long. Her reaction further alarms Dean and Rhea and they reflexively move closer to one another. 

Nikki’s wings flash up and her whole body becomes airborne as she launches herself at the second man. She’s still screech laughing as she wraps her limbs around his torso, her wings excitedly vibrating behind her. Roman giggles, forgetting his surroundings for a moment. It was so good to see a friend. 

Dean and Rhea stand off to the side, waiting for their introductions.

_ I guess we’re safe? _ Rhea looks up at Dean, her brow crinkled again.

_ Would seem like it. Taker wouldn’t bring harm to us, to his own house. Nikki sure seems to think he’s ok. Let’s just see what happens, _ he soothes.

Dean watches the man start to peel Nikki off his body, if for no reason other than to get some air. He seemed genuinely happy to have her attached to him. The newcomer is radiating joy but Dean doesn’t miss the attempt he’s making to hide what he can only describe as trepidation. He’s bigger than Dean, not quite as tall as Taker. Big enough to easily hold Nikki’s body weight without so much as tipping forward. There’s a tribal tattoo covering his right arm that goes from his wrist up his shoulder and spreads over his right pec, Dean assumes from what he can see while the man has a tank top on. 

Before the man turns to him Dean starts to have tiny flashbacks. The long black hair, the way it curls, he’s seen it before. He has a vision of his own hand in front of his face, underwater, with strands on that hair caught in his fingers. When he does finally turn to Dean his eyes are bright, not the intense look he saw previously, but they reflect the soft light of morning the same way they do moonlight. 

“Roman,” he says sticking his hand out to Dean. “We’ve met.”

“I gathered,” Dean answers shaking his hand. He’s trying to take the whole picture in. Honestly, it’s a lot. 

Roman turns his attention to Rhea who looks for all the world like she wants nothing to do with this. She doesn’t like humans, and this one crouching down in front of her is particularly imposing. Her tail is tucked under, her ears flattened down, and she’s using Nikki as a partial shield. 

Dean takes that moment to turn to Taker. “You go out for errands and bring back...a shapeshifter? That is what he is, right?” His tone isn’t particularly rude, just curious and to the point. It’s not taken as such by the creature in question. 

“Damn, son. I’m right here,” Roman admonishes from where he’s crouched down. He stands up fully again to face Dean.

Taker doesn’t like the energy surge from either demi-god or hippocamp as they square off. “You two will not fight in my kitchen. In fact, you two will not fight anywhere. Sit the fuck down.”

All four creatures in Taker’s kitchen immediately freeze. Not obeying is not an option. Taker never demands anything of them unreasonable or harmful. He could snuff each of them out faster than they could lay a hand on one another so they do as they are told. Taker removes his jacket and his hat, replacing them on the rack by the door. He scowls at the four of them and before stepping out the back door to his yard he demands, “Work it out.”

Dean sits in his usual chair, and Nikki in hers. Roman is about to pull out the chair Taker usually occupies but Dean won’t have it. “Nope. That one,” he points to the usually empty chair. Roman scrunches his face at Dean but takes the seat he’s directed to. Rhea is sitting on the floor between Nikki and Dean. She’s reaching her head up to try to see what’s going on at the table. 

There’s a small bench seat near the front door. Dean remembers seeing it in the cottage foyer no one ever uses. He gets up and leaves the room, returning a few steps later with the bench. He pulls Taker’s chair away from the table and places it against the wall, out of the way, before sliding the bench seat up to the vacant space. He looks down at Rhea before gesturing to the platform. 

“Well?” Dean prods when she doesn’t move.

_ Don’t tell me what to do. What if I was fine down here?  _ She sulks. 

_“_ Quit being a brat _,_ ” Roman interjects, “he went out of his way to give you equal status.” 

_ You’ve got to be kidding me? I’m dreaming, right? Please tell me I’m dreaming. _ Rhea had started to feel a little better knowing Roman wasn’t a human, but now he can read her mind too? 

Nikki shakes her head at her friend, gesturing with it for Rhea to get up. She relents and jumps onto the bench. It does feel good to be level with everyone else she decides. 

“I can telepathically communicate with animals, including humans.” Roman looks between Nikki and Rhea. “You two I can read, as long as your thoughts are open. I can’t get all in there and poke around. Nikki can vouch for that.”

“It’s true,” she explains for Dean and Rhea. “It’s like how I can communicate with Rhea. Goes one direction. I have to speak to her but she can send me thoughts.”

“You,” Roman directs at Dean, “I got nothing but static. But, demi-god, so I guess that’s the wall. It’s the same way with Taker.” 

Dean exhales through his nose. “I can go both ways. I can send thoughts, and I can read ‘em. I  _ can _ go past the borders of what you intend to tell me. Workin’ on learning how to find the border and stop. Aint gonna walk around being a fuckin’ creep.”

_ Too late for that _ , Rhea sniffs sarcastically. She’s only reinforced when both Roman and Nikki snicker. 

“Thanks guys. Thank you.” Dean glares at them. “So, Roman, let’s just cut to the chase. I’m assuming Taker told you what we’re doing here?”

Roman nods.

“You in or out?” Dean gets straight to the point.

“Well, I don’t have any previous engagements,” Roman pauses to lift an eyebrow at Nikki, “so I’d say in.”

“You better mean it big ‘un.” Nikki feigns sternness, at him before reaching over to squeeze Roman’s arm. “Could use the muscle where we’re goin’.”

“Really?” Dean stares at her, flexing an arm. 

“Hmm, yeah,” Nikki grins and she gets up and laughs all the way to her room. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Core 4 (Dean, Nikki, Rhea, and Roman - thank you cookie, our convos are always amazing) are starting to learn how to stick together, as rough as that may be right now. They had better get it together, and fast, because menace and adventure are about to hit them all. Not to mention they're days away from setting off on WT1 (World Tour 1)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is short, but there's so much sass involved I had to control it for your safety.
> 
> Don't worry though, there are many more chapters on the way, and much sass. I'm hoping now that things have calmed down a bit, and my muse seems to have returned from an elongated vacation, I'll be able to churn out some chapters of this crazy adventure that's in my head and update more regularly for my Fringe Theory faithfuls - you know, you guys should totally have a nickname! If you wanna offer up a suggestion throw it in the comments!

Dean knows he needs to thank Roman for saving his life. The fact that he has been at Taker’s cottage all day and Dean hasn’t done so yet is making him uncomfortable. He must look like a jerk to the hippocamp… man. Between the girls though it’s been impossible to get him alone. Nikki had a year’s worth of catching up to do and she got it all in over the span of the morning and early afternoon. As they sat on the patio in the backyard, she filled Roman in on everything that had happened since Dean arrived and she was sent off with Rhea to keep her safe. They had stayed in relative seclusion, not wanting any of the locals, or winter tourists, to figure out what Rhea was or that Nikki had secrets of her own. As was usually the case Rhea had spent most of the day near Nikki listening to her conversation with Roman, trying to read him with squinted eyes. When she needed a break she retired for a nap.

Taker had meant it when he told the quartet in his kitchen to “work it out”. He made himself scarce. They’ve taken over his home and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t mourning for his peaceful retirement. 

Rhea passed Dean purposefully in the kitchen as he was staring out the window through the late afternoon haze at Roman and Nikki. The nap she had taken on the couch refreshed her just enough from the difficulty of being near so many new creatures, and listening to Roman and Nikki’s stories all day. She slowed her gait to a crawl and then stopped to look at him over her shoulder.  _ Spying? Seems like something you would do,  _ she remarked tauntingly.

“Me?” Dean questioned, looking down at her. “You barely know me. Trust me. This is just the surface.”

_ Oh, I’m sure. Yes. A mysterious demi-god, I forgot,  _ the sarcasm wove through her thoughts.  _ I can see it’s just the surface. There’s so much baggage stuffed under that shell it’s about to bust.  _

Dean glares at her. He hates that she met him a mere two days ago and she can already figuratively, flay him open and read him like a tracker reads prints in soft moist ground. It’s the predator in her. Wanting to send her on her way he questions, “Where were you heading so fast before you stopped to screw with me?”

Rhea hisses quietly at Dean, a mock disgusted expression of her feigned disdain.  _ Outside, to dig a burrow,  _ she tells him matter of factly, brandishing sharp claws in his direction. 

“Brave. You’re gonna go dig a hole in Taker’s yard?”

_ I asked. It’s none of your business anyway. Is it your yard? No. So why don’t you go back to spying on those two and forget my business.  _ Rhea leaps at the screen door, shoving it open and rus out into the yard.

_ Great _ . Dean sighs when Rhea is out of thought-shot.  _ And there’s an apology I’m going to have to make up.  _ Thank you’s, apologies, what the hell was going on here anyway? Dean has never felt more sorry, anxious, or grateful as he has the past couple days. 

Roman and Nikki break off their conversation near dinner time. Nikki returns inside to make sure Rhea’s dinner is defrosting. She gives Dean a toothy smile when he looks up from the book he’s reading on coastal cryptids, again with those pointed teeth that make him just this side of uncomfortable. His face softens a bit at her but he doesn’t quite manage to match her expression back. He decides that now or never is the time to talk to Roman since he was finally free. 

Dean walks out the back door and stops in his tracks, met with a scene he wasn’t prepared for. Rhea’s body is curled up on Taker’s chaise lounge, her neck and head stretched out in Roman’s direction. Roman, the brute he wanted everyone to  _ think _ he is, is sitting on the ground a few feet away from Rhea’s nose. His non-threatening position a clear attempt to make her more comfortable. She’s looking Roman in the face, inquisitive brown eyes, softer than Dean has ever seen, except for the time she had drowsily crawled to sleep next to him. Roman is speaking to her, his volume low, but Dean can detect the dulcet tone from the doorstep where he halted. 

Dean doesn’t interrupt them. Instead he stays planted where he is; the timbre of the low sounds coupled with Rhea’s gaze, complacent and captured, unexpectedly turn him into an indulgent bystander. He watches them soundlessly, holding his breath.

“What were you doing over there in the furthest part of the yard? You looked busy,” Roman acknowledges.

_ Digging a den. I don’t need it I guess. I’ve been sleeping inside for over a year,  _ Rhea replies without moving. She’s melted into her spot on the chaise. It’s like she’s under a spell, and for a brief moment Dean wonders if that is the case before he hears the gentle rumble again.

“Then why dig? Seems like a lot of work for something you don’t need.” Roman’s voice is directed at Rhea but seems to have the same odd effect on Dean. 

_ Itchy claws _ , she answers, her inner voice drawling.  _ I was lounging near Taker last night, flexing my paws. _ She demonstrates, not unlike the motion a cat makes as it kneads.  _ He told me the ground was soft near the wooded property line. I figured that was as good as any permission I’ve ever gotten. _

The line of Roman’s mouth turns upward into a natural smile. Soft and maybe a little lopsided. “I would say that was permission.”

_ Exactly what I thought. _

The trance-like state Dean is in watching the interaction is abruptly brought to an end when Nikki comes out the back door, letting the screen slam behind her. All three unsuspecting creatures whip around from their spots to regard her. She feels like she’s ended something sacred. For a moment she’s a bit jealous until she remembers why she came outside. “Rhea, your dinner is ready. Defrosted, room temperature…”

_ Thank you _ . Rhea directs toward Nikki. Usually she would have been more annoyed at being interrupted but she’s still so relaxed she simply slides gracefully off the chaise. She ducks her head slowly at Roman, and he nods his back, before Rhea trots over to Nikki and follows her inside. 

Roman shifts his concentration to Dean. “How long were you just going to stand there?” His tone has turned flippant. 

Dean’s face turns crimson in the dusk light knowing that he had been caught for the second time that day. He hopes Rhea didn’t notice because he’d for sure hear about it if she knew he had been “spying” twice in one day and she had caught him as many times. She may not know him very well but the smaller creature has no issue calling him out. The heat in Dean’s cheeks burns as Roman stands and dusts his pants off. He groans as he stretches out a bit before sitting in an upright patio chair. 

Dean feels like he should explain himself. Like he should apologize. What the hell IS going on here? Again, really, he feels like he should apologize? He hears Taker’s voice from yesterday,  _ You’ve both grown up. _ The observation was meant for Nikki and Rhea, though Dean can’t help but think that maybe that is what is happening to him as well. He sits in a patio chair near Roman.

“I, uh...sorry ‘bout that. It’s just that, she never lets anyone really…” Dean is trying to think of the right words but he doesn’t need to.

“She doesn’t trust anyone but Taker and Nikki,” Roman comments. “Neither do I.” The words aren’t said with malice, they’re not accusatory, but there’s a sharpness to them. Dean understands - guarded.

“Well,” Dean shoots back, “there’s not a lot of that flying around here anyway.” 

“How’s your head?” Roman asks, raising one eyebrow at Dean. “Smacked it good there.”

Dean had intended to have a civilized conversation, thank Roman honestly, but there’s something cocky and pretentious in Roman’s tone that puts him off that idea. “Fine,” he says elongating the response. 

“You’re not even going to thank me?” Roman looks away from Dean and flips his long hair over his shoulder. It’s a smooth action, practiced, and so full of arrogance. Dean’s momentarily incensed, his eyes narrowing at the creature in front of him. 

“Ha,” Dean emits, a low scoff of a thing. “I was going to.” His face holds a sour expression, his hands tense around the arm rests on his chair. 

“And now you’re not?” Roman challenges, his brow wrinkling and his mouth turning down on either side. “That’s not very gracious of you.”

Dean’s mouth drops open. He isn’t sure what to make of the whole situation. Minutes earlier Roman was talking Rhea into a trance, hell he had Dean in a trance, and now...now he was just being a grandiose asshole. Dean wasn’t sure he even wanted to thank Roman anymore, nevermind apologize for the inconvenience he had caused.  _ Grown my ass.  _ Every ounce of stubborn in him comes to the surface.

Dean’s face stays suspended in disbelief for longer than Roman had anticipated. He wasn’t sure how to speak to most in language that wasn’t sarcastic and biting. He had been alone for so long, not beholden to anyone’s expectations, that he let himself slip into the state of mind that being hidden in all ways was best. Being soft and vulnerable meant being caught, and being caught meant being exploited, likely killed. 

“I may not,” Dean grouses after a long stretch of silence between them. The sun had set and a blanket of dark had fallen, and with it began the sounds of night.

“Is this where _ I’m _ supposed to beg forgiveness for being an asshole?” Roman asks, a smirk forming on his face in the dark. His facade was full of bravado but underneath it all was a creature unsure of his future. The reality he’s faced with is that he needs Dean and the rest of the beings in the house because he  _ is _ alone. He’s so painfully aware that he has spent years with minimal contact, and as a herd animal that cuts him every day. He doesn’t want to be alone forever. Torture for a herd creature is an existence lived in isolation. 

“Would be a good start,” Dean replies, his voice lilting up at the end. 

They finally look at each other, really  _ at _ each other. The predicament of their situation, of both needing to say something, hanging between them. Face to face in the dark, their expressions both turn from arrogant and snarky to something more... considerate. There’s a small spark of recognition as they each view one another in the same light. Each sees bits of himself in the other - caution, pride, and the slightest glimpse of expectation.

The irritable tension in the air slowly evaporates, replaced by something else. It’s heavy, fortelling - Dean knows he is in deep here, but doesn’t quite understand why yet. It surprises even him when he says, “You’ll need a place to stay. There’s an empty guest room in my cottage next door.”

“That’s my invitation?” Roman pushes. “Are there pillow mints?” 

Dean huffs incredulously at Roman as he stands up. He starts to walk across the lawn in the dark. Halfway back to his cottage he turns his head back and grumbles, “Thanks for not letting me drown,” before he stalks the rest of the way to his door.

Roman smirks at Dean’s back in the dark. “You’re welcome,” he says too quietly for Dean to hear.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean...Roman...sand and surf? They have a lot to learn, including that maybe they can't read anyone as well as they originally thought. 
> 
> Though, there does always seems to be some trouble to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry that took so long, but you know - life and stuff.
> 
> Big thanks to @cookiethewriter for being the best beta reader and fic cheerleader I could ask for. 
> 
> Also, thank you to every single person who has given kudos, and especially thanks to anyone who has left a comment.

Dean’s laying in his bed staring at the ceiling again. His legs feel restless and he can’t get his arms comfortable no matter how he places them. They’re annoying in corporeal form, always needing to be managed this way or that. He lays one forearm over the other on top of his belly. They start to slip and he huffs, then lays them down straight by his sides. That feels unnatural, stiff, so he brings them up over his head and crosses them on top of his pillow. It’s not long before he’s getting a discomforted feeling in his neck. Dean rolls fully over and buries his face in his pillow. He wants to scream into the dark, wants to flail and furiously wriggle around erratically until all of the heavy feelings in his brain become heavy feelings in his limbs so they will stay still in his bed. He doesn’t scream and he doesn’t flop about. Instead, he laboriously breathes into his pillow.

In the room next door, Dean’s guest room, he knows his guest is not asleep either. He can sense that Roman is just as uncomfortable and restless as he is. Roman, in stark contrast to the demi-god doing his best not to roll out of bed as he deals with his frustrations, is physically stock still. Dean doesn’t know what’s bothering the hippocamp, and he won’t either because he’s  _ not _ searching brains anymore. What he does know is that neither of them are about to sleep anytime soon. 

\----------

Not long after Dean stalked home, Roman had risen from the chair in Taker’s yard and followed over. He had knocked on the back door and Dean had answered, no shirt, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth, and a bit of the minty paste drooling down his chin. He stepped aside, motioned Roman in, and then left him while he went to finish what he was doing. Roman stood in the kitchen, waiting. It had been a long time since he had been in a house, except for that morning when he had stepped into Taker’s. He hadn’t had time to think of it then due to being confronted with his past in the form of Nikki flying at him, and in the present of meeting Dean and Rhea. Meeting with Taker had at first felt like a terrible idea. He knew it would drag up memories and emotions he had no interest in dealing with, but Roman has manners. When a high god calls on you, you answer, even if your initial reaction is to resist. And he had. He had considered fleeing, considered how fast he could swim, considered if he could swim out of Taker’s range, but again, when a high god summons you it is not something easily overpowered. Roman’s never had any delusions. In the grand scheme of things, he feels, he’s not all that important.

Dean had scuffed into the kitchen, his pajama pants sweeping the floor as he went, breaking Roman out of his thoughts. He tilted his head in Roman’s direction as a means of greeting before explaining plainly, “Living room is through that door to your left. Bedrooms and bathroom in the hall to the right. First door on the left is yours.”

Roman had wanted to respond verbally. He wanted to say “Thank you,” and “It’s kind of you to let me stay the night,” but his brain was being unhelpful in not supplying the words. His senses overwhelmed by new smells, new sounds, new textures, he settled on nodding his head back and did his best to give Dean a half grin. It was good enough for Dean, who raised a hand briefly and shuffled to his room, closing the door behind him.

\----------

Dean can’t stand it anymore. He’s convinced only one thing will make him feel better. He thinks this is something his guest will understand in one way or another, though he’s not sure if he will approve of his method after the last time he chose it. Dean rolls out of bed and grabs the nearest pair of jeans from his floor. Next he pulls on a white t shirt from a chair across the room before he opens the door. He exits his room, cautiously approaching the guest bedroom. He knocks, and hears Roman answer, “Yeah?” before he swings the door open fully. Dean peers into the room, finding Roman’s eyes looking back at him with a slight silver shine in the dim light.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No, man. I’m, uh, feeling like a fish out of water here.” Roman smirks faintly in the dark.

Dean doesn’t see the smirk so much as hear it in Roman’s voice. He lets out a small breathy huff. He likes this one. “Up and at it then. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Roman doesn’t need to be told twice. He practically bolts off the bed, not having bothered with the covers and gets dressed. “Where are we going?”

“The beach.”

Roman expels the biggest sigh of complete and utter relief Dean has ever heard.

Minutes later the two are walking the short distance to the beach. Every now and then Dean notices Roman stumble over a crack in the pavement or not pick his foot up high enough over a rock and it goes skipping over the ground. Getting used to having to walk upright on two feet, on dry land is not that easy. Dean knows. They continue the walk in silence, each battling his inner thoughts to stay back behind the walls they have labored to construct. By the time they reach the pier at the beach Roman seems pretty steady. 

Roman stops abruptly at the origin of the pier to breathe in the salt air, his lungs filling with the essence of home. Dean stops when Roman does, and lets him enjoy the moment. The wind is whipping up Roman’s long, loose hair, the moon illuminating his face, eyes closed, reveling in what for him is the edge of the very best place on Earth. Dean, for the first time notices how pleasing Roman really is to look at. He can finally appreciate the thick hair as it’s not tangled in his fingers after a terrifying fall or a defining feature of a new creature invading one of his safe spaces. The itching in his bones is nearly unbearable but still, he lets Roman have the moment. Maybe Dean takes a bit of the moment for himself too. 

When Roman notices Dean checking him out, he turns his head and cocks an eyebrow at him. Dean quickly turns away, pink creeping up his cheeks as he turns his gaze to the end of the pier. He licks his lips and grits one booted foot into the sand under it. 

“Really?” Roman says, cutting the silence as he reads Dean’s intentions. “After the last time?”

“‘S not wet this time,” Dean replies, eyes fixed on the end of the pier. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you won’t let me drown.”

Roman snorts. “Don’t be so sure.”

Dean turns back to Roman and notes his deep brown eyes sparkling with silvery mischief. Of course he hadn’t meant it. Dean’s not sure why, but he trusts Roman. He’s not about to let him know though. “Well, I mean, answer to Taker then,” Dean jabs. “No one said I need a life-guard anyway.” 

“Yeah, looked like it that one time…” Roman mutters, and follows it up with a fake cough for good measure. He flips his windblown hair out of his eyes. Dean has to close his own for a moment. The gods have blessed him with a worthy opponent, even if the reason he’s here was originally supposed to be a punishment. 

“Race?” Dean challenges. He feels a small twinge of guilt, knowing Roman was likely still somewhat unsteady on his legs, and that he’s proud enough to not back down from a challenge from someone he’s known less than 24 hours. 

“You’re on,” comes Roman’s confident reply.

They ready at the start of the pier and Dean counts them down. “Ok ok. Three. Two. One!” They’re pretty even as they start. Dean can feel himself picking up momentum halfway down and he glances over at Roman before yelling, “See you in the water!” as he pulls ahead, not looking back. He’s wearing a full smile now, dimples evident, feet pounding the boards, wind lashing at his face. This is joy for him. Dean feels the rush in his veins as he reaches the last third of the pier length. He’s still in figurative heaven until he hears heavy footfalls rapidly approaching him from behind. When he glances back to his side again Roman is there, his expression a mix of victory and sarcasm. 

Roman only grinds out one word at Dean as he passes him. 

“Bitch!”

Dean’s mouth drops open as he watches the bigger creature pass him. He does so with the sort of confidence and speed that can only be innate. Dean pushes himself harder but is left behind to watch in awe as Roman reaches the end first and launches himself up onto the railing without needing to use the bench for height. As he springs his human form through the air off the railing Roman has the wherewithal to add in a spin so he’s facing back at Dean. Dean can still only watch as the hippocamp seems to pause for an unreasonable amount of time in the air, displaying an open-mouthed, wild grin back at him, his hair defying gravity around his head like a crown, before he drops.

Dean shakes his head, preparing to focus on his own takeoff. He drives up with his left foot, and his right foot plants solidly on the back of a bench before he’s bending his knee and shoving off. As his body becomes airborne, clearing the railing with plenty of room to spare, hurtling up into the night, his mind settles. His body is freed of the stabbing feeling in his bones. Every worry and thought empties from his consciousness to be replaced by inner peace. As he begins his rapid descent to the watery depths he feels weightless. He sees the stars and feels the air rush by; Dean knows that nothing in his life to this point has ever been so beautiful. 

This time, the impact of his body slicing through the surface of the water is a welcome wake-up call. He closes his eyes as the water swirls all around him, buffering his descent into the depths. Keeping his eyes closed as he slows… slows... slows... to a stop, Dean lets himself be supported by the salt water as long as it is apt to, not willingly letting go of the absolute weightlessness of the moment. He doesn’t open them again until he feels the first indication he is about to sink. He finds that he is laying in the water, reclined like he would on land, facing up toward the surface. Light from the full moon penetrating just under the surface of the water tells him he’s not wrong. A small push from each arm keeps him suspended there a moment longer as a dark figure appears higher up in the water column. It’s distinctly hippocamp shaped.

The hippocamp moves deliberately above Dean. His muscular tail creates a vortex that reaches down through the water. Swirling water moves around Dean’s body and takes hold of him. The hold is gentle but Dean can also feel immense potential surge around him. He doesn’t think to be concerned as he finds himself being lifted upward with care. Once eye level with Roman, Dean takes a good look at him. His equine features are softened by the water. His eyes are big and dark, his deep chocolate brown coat sleek, and his mane is fanned out in the water surrounding him. Despite being gorgeous, he looks every bit a large, formidable creature. Dean wants to keep looking but it’s then that his lungs start to burn and he knows before too long the discomfort will interfere with any serenity he’s found. 

A simple glance at the surface by Dean reminds Roman the demi-god has significantly less lung capacity than he does, even if it was extensive in human terms. Roman gives Dean a bump with his nose and they both rise to the surface. Heads reaching air again, Dean heaves out the used up air before sucking in a fresh breath, while Roman loudly snorts out his nostrils before easily filling his lungs. 

“Beach?” Dean yells to Roman over the waves and the wind.

Roman nods his head in response before striking out with his front legs, using his powerful tail to propel him. Everything about Dean’s swimming is inefficient when compared to Roman, but then he wasn’t born to be an aquatic creature. 

_ No. I was born to protect the aquatic creatures. And the land creatures, and the creatures of the sky.  _

Roman reaches the shoreline first. He waits in the surf for Dean to catch up. When he does they struggle through the surf together, each in his own awkward way. The surf is heavy tonight causing Dean to be tossed around a bit in his upright human form. Roman on the other hand can power through the surf just fine. It’s the sand under him that’s the problem. He has to use his ancestral three-toed front feet to help pull his heavy body from the water. Until he hauls up completely out of the sea he undulates his body not unlike a seal to aid his feet. Dean watches from the corner of his eye, observing, but not turning his head or saying a word.

When Roman is settled in the sand a few feet from where the edge of the tide is reaching, facing the open expanse of ocean, Dean plops himself ass-first into the sand a few feet from Roman’s shoulder. He sits, soaked to the skin, with his knees up and his forearms draped haphazardly over his knee caps. Roman towers over him in hippocamp form. He’s resting sternally, his neck arched up regally, graceful legs carefully folded under and just to his right side where Dean is. His powerful tail balances the back end of his body.

_ Feel better?  _ Dean hears Roman’s voice in his head.

“Should have known you’d have a mean competitive streak,” he answers, turning his head a bit to actually look at Roman. “But yes. I do feel better. Much better.”

_ Miserable feeling to be that restless and not have a good outlet. _

Dean hums an affirmative reply. He’s distracted by the hippocamp. Everything about him is elegant and powerful. Even in Dean’s head the sound of his voice is alluring. Overhead, the clouds shift with the winds, freeing the moon to cast its light fully on the two beings resting in the sand. Dean turns back to the ocean, staring out as far as he can see. “This is a pretty good outlet. Stops the prickling in my limbs. Makes it quiet when my brain gets too loud.”

Roman stretches his thick neck downward, dropping his muzzle to rub at a spot on his leg. He emits a soft huff as he straightens his head back up, curling his chin into his chest. He stares out into the open ocean, the horizon his limit as well. Roman’s movement draws Dean’s attention from the water. He subtly studies the form of the hippocamp next to him. His tightly arched neck is host to the crest of thick jet black hair, and Dean’s eyes follow the mane up to a pair of finely-shaped equine ears. Dean sweeps his gaze quickly over the rest of Roman before asking, “Are you actually comfortable?”

_ Hmm? Yeah. _ It takes a moment before Roman can give Dean his full attention again, deep in thought, lost in his memories as he was. Dean is slightly surprised Roman had checked out so fully. Though he supposes Roman isn’t frightened of much being his size and possessing as much strength as Dean had felt a fraction of earlier in the water. Turning his head toward the demigod, Roman adds, _ I’m fine here. Guess I’d prefer deep water in this form but  _ someone _ has to compromise.  _

Dean scrunches his face at Roman as he pulls his arms back to cross in front of his chest. “Feel free. I’m not stopping you.”

Roman nickers softly, the equine version of a calming word, but it’s also laced with an air of amusement. He no more wants to leave Dean here on the beach than Dean actuallys wants to be left alone. Pouting is something Dean has down to an artform Roman surmises as he takes his own turn to study the demigod. He’s still soaking wet in his clothes but his hair is starting to dry and some strands have gone from being plastered to his forehead to softly blowing in the salty breeze. The gray-white light glancing off his cheekbones makes his skin soft in contrast to his current demeanor. Roman turns his attention back to the water as he feels the incoming tide softly caress his folded knees. 

Sensing Roman’s attention elsewhere Dean relaxes slightly, his arms not as tight in front of his body. When he glances up at Roman his eyes are focused again on the watery horizon, his forelock windblown over his near eye, obscuring his view of the man sitting near him. Dean takes the chance to let his eyes wander curiously down Roman’s body, over the deep chocolate haircoat of his neck that blends perfectly into an equally muscular back dorsally and broad chest ventrally - reminiscent of a baroque type. The distinctly equine form ends near his hips where his coat meets the first scales of a tail that faintly shimmers in the moonlight. His whole tail is covered in smooth scales, muted turquoise in color. It’s well-muscled, and ends fluked, thickly fleshed across the backs of the flukes before they taper out into thin fin edges. 

As Roman is lost in thought, illuminated by light bouncing off the moon, staring out over a world Dean can only imagine, his tail periodically curls up over itself. It’s a slow and subconscious movement, almost like a human tapping their fingers while deeply submersed in their mind. The water has crept up to Romans elbows, and Dean’s boots, over the time they have been resting. Roman doesn’t seem to notice, but it redirects Dean’s thoughts back to the fact that though it may still be dark and tourist season has ended, they should get back to where ever each of them is going before they’re seen. He’s about to speak when he sees Roman twitch heavily.

Dean whips his head to Roman’s face, trying to follow his gaze, trying to figure out what startled him. Roman is staring at the water, his chest expanding and contracting rapidly, his nostrils flaring. The tide has a strange pattern. Dean can’t make out exactly what is happening but he watches as spirals of water reach in from the deep ocean to the shore. As the seconds tick by the spirals twist and become more defined, radiating out on top of the ocean from a single source in the distance. Roman makes a gutteral noise deep in his throat as he unfolds his legs and props himself up on his feet, gripping into the sand. 

_ You see it?  _

“Yeah,” Dean answers, tense. A strange feeling grips his chest making it tight. “What is it?” he chokes out, a small cough following. 

_ You feel it too?  _ The whites of Roman’s eyes are showing. It’s a distinct contrast to the brown iris. Roman’s reaction compels Dean to pull his feet from the water’s reach. Once he’s not in contact with the water Dean quickly recovers, the tight feeling gone. Roman is still partially in the surf, a water spiral twisting at his pasterns. 

“Roman?” Dean calls out over the wind that had suddenly picked up. He’s met with the equine head rapidly swiveling in his direction, thoroughly spooked, coiled to strike aggressively. Roman has a dorsal fin spanning the length of his hips to the halfway point of his tail Dean failed to notice earlier - it’s now spiked entirely upright. Dean stumbles back a step, the change in the hippocamp’s demeanor enough to make him question his safety. “Roman!” he yells again, this time not questioning, his jaw tense and his brow furrowed. Roman heaves himself out of the water and fully on to the sand, his chest taking the brunt of his weight. Dean flinches and backs up another step to get out of the way of the larger creature. He’s not sure if he should be prepared to run or fight. Roman rises again partially on feet awkwardly splayed out in front of him. He looks right at Dean with worried eyes, his ears flattened back, mouth tight. It strikes Dean like lightening seeing Roman in prey animal mode. “What? What can I do?” he asks frantically.

_ We need to get to Taker,  _ Roman asserts. _ Now. _

“Shift. Let’s go.” Dean doesn’t question Roman. He also doesn’t consider the logistics.

_ It will be faster if you get my things. I can’t do it in this form. It will take too long.  _

“Your things? What things?” Dean asks. “And what was that?”

_ I’ll explain on the way back. Go to the pier, after the second piling, underneath is a waterproof box. Pop the hinges. I have clothes and shoes there.  _ Roman shimmies a few feet over the sand in Dean’s direction to help make his point.

Dean pauses for a moment, looking at Roman confusedly until it all clicks. He takes off at a run toward the pier, his boots slipping in the deep sand every few steps so he has to catch himself quickly with one hand as he goes. He runs until he reaches the pier, slightly out of breath. He crouches a bit to fit under and sure enough there is a box, out of reach of the water. He pops the clips keeping half of the box in place as it opens on hinges. Inside are a pair of track pants, tank top, and sneakers, not unlike the ones Roman was wearing earlier. Dean considers for a moment that Roman would have shifted right out of what he was wearing earlier as he jumped into the water.  _ How many changes of clothes has Taker had to stuff in here over the years?  _ There’s really no time for wondering. Dean bolts with the armful of clothing back to Roman.

When he reaches the hippocamp Dean places the pile of clean clothing on dry sand and turns his back. A minute later he feels a hand fall on his shoulder. Dean looks back over it to Roman’s human face, still full of worry. _Sorry I scared you._

“No worries big man. Let’s just go. And what the fuck was that?” Dean looks back to the water. The surface is calm, like nothing had ever been wrong. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're so inclined, find me over on tumblr, as renegademustelid!


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